TWO GENERATIONS OF EXECUTIONERS completed
by Bullfrog
Summary: Years ago, the father waged a one man war on the Mafia. Now that his dad is dead, the U.S. Navy SEAL son takes his place in the family business.
1. Family Business

DISCLAIMER: Mack Bolan The Executioner is not mine. He was created by Don Pendleton and not by me. I have no rights to profit off of Mack Bolan and with this I am not. I wrote this sort of spin-off alternative universe Mack  
Bolan story for others to enjoy free of charge.  
  
TWO GENERATIONS OF EXECUTIONERS  
BY: BULLFROG  
  
CHAPTER ONE: FAMILY BUSINESS  
  
It is a nice, peaceful Sunday afternoon. There is a mild breeze blowing in a south-eastwardly direction and a temperature of 75 degrees. The couple enjoying their weekly picnic couldn't imagine a day more suited to express the love they still feel for each other after all of these years.  
  
The husband, a man who goes by the name of James Smith, is 48 years of age. Age has done little to disguise his rugged good looks. He is 6 feet tall; 200 pounds even and well muscled. The only real marks of age the show are the steaks of gray that streak his one pitch-black hair and a few lines under his eyes and around his mouth.  
  
His wife, a woman who goes by the name of Barbara Smith, is 44 years of age. While her once gorgeous appearance is still evident, age has been slightly harsher with her then her husband. A life easier now then the one that she lived before has put about 40 pounds on her; and she has gained more then her fair share of developing wrinkles.  
  
If you were to pass by these two, you'd never guess that the two of them had ever been anything but the lower middle class family that you see. You would never imagine that they both once lived with a sudden and violent death lurking around each corner. You would never imagine that James Smith himself once not so half-heartedly considered himself the angel of death in a human body. You would never have guessed that if they both had not led such dangerous lives, and if their lives had not taken the exact same turns as they did, the loving couple that you see before you would have never met and therefore wouldn't exist today. Regardless of what they may have been and done in the past, today these two had no desire ask for anything more then they have.  
  
Just as James took another bite of his turkey sandwich and Barbara took a bite of her potato salad, four quad runners broke out of the tree line and made a mad dash towards the Smiths. At first, neither of them noticed the blatant violation of the rules of the park they were in, and by the time they did, all four vehicles were too close for them to do anything but stare.  
  
The quad-runners came to a complete stop and without a word all 4 drivers pulled fully automatic machine guns out of the satchels that had been attached to the back of their vehicles. Mr. And Mrs. Smith knew that their past and caught up with them, and without a word exchanged they kissed each other good bye just as the four gunmen open fired on them. That fast, within a few seconds not even a blink of the eye, the years of danger the lived separately and the years of love and peace they lived together were over. Mr. And Mrs. James Smith was gone forever.  
  
*****  
  
Shortly after Mr. And Mrs. James Smith go to their eternal destiny some heated action is occurring at an undisclosed location that is used for training by the U.S. Navy SEALs. Indeed, with the sky high temperatures, rampant humidity, and the festering with insect life which seems to have nothing better to do then make a human's life miserable with it's bites and stings, no one in their right mind would want anything to do with this God forsaken place. That is, no one except the U.S. Navy SEALs.  
  
The guerrilla troops manning the compound of 6 poorly constructed shacks have no idea of what creeps out in the wilds that surround their base. Mostly the bug life that makes them wonder why they ever took up "the cause" in the first place. Often they find themselves wondering, "Is killing Americans really worth this? Especially since we have yet to do anything but make idle threats against the American businessmen and tourist who visit our country." Little do they realize that in very short order, they won't have to worry about this or anything else ever again.  
  
The sniper blends in so well with the jungle that he isn't even sure that he can see himself takes aim with is silenced sniper rife. He has 4 sentries patrolling the wood line that he can see, who have to be taken out before the next stage of operations can begin. He calms his nerves, steadies his breath and without hurry draws a bead on the first sentry. The man will be an easy kill, leaning against a tree smoking a cigarette exposing his head and torso entirely to the sniper. One pull of the trigger and the sentry falls backwards, snuffing out his last cigarette with the weight of his corpse. Sentry two is daydreaming of some far off place. Perhaps he is visualizing being with his wife and children, his girlfriend, or some fantasy woman that is way out of his league. The sniper cares less for what is in his target's mind, just pleased that with a pull of the trigger his little messenger of death by route of the right eye replaced those thoughts as the last thing into his mind. The third sentry proved a little harder target. He was standing on the opposite side of a tree from the sniper. The only view the sniper has is of his target as he dance weaves side to side while relieving himself is short views of the head as it quickly pops from one side of the tree to the other. This is an impossible shot so the sniper places a shot about 15 feet to the right of his target but far enough in the woods to draw the sentry's attention. The sentry picks up his AK-47 and begins to examine his surroundings to discover what the sound he just heard was. He slinked out from behind the tree and landed on his face as the sniper's bullet found its mark right in the sentry's ear. Sentry four seems to be the only one taking his job seriously. He patrols his assigned section of wood line in an impressively proper military manner. Burying the glimmer of respect for this man, the sniper also puts a round into his head. After a few seconds of examining the four sentries through is scope, the sniper was satisfied that they wouldn't be presenting themselves and unexpected obstacles to the rest of the mission. He keyed the mic to his radio and stated, " Father bird to nest. Droppings are on windshield. Hatchlings are a go to proceed."  
  
Upon hearing this, the other five members of the SEAL team take one last stock of their current surroundings. Once certain that no obvious danger is present, three proceed to their assignment of gathering intelligence on this band of anti-American thugs. The remaining two cover their three comrades from one angle while the sniper and sixth member of the team covers them from another.  
  
The team of 3 crawl through waist high weeds. When they come to the clearing they stop and once again survey their surroundings. Once certain that there are not hostiles, they slowly crawl forward to the first shack.  
  
Inside the first shack they find a sleeping terrorist. A knife to the throat eliminates the possibility of him becoming a threat later on. The SEALs spread out and search the building. After finding nothing of value they regroup at the door and prepare to move on to the next shack.  
  
Just as they exit the building they hear an approaching helicopter. Quickly they all retreat back into the building while they assess this unexpected turn of events. From the helicopter they hear, "Out of role. Repeat, this is out of role. Petty Officer First Class Marcus Smith you are needed back at base camp. Crank out a pop up to show us your location." Upon hearing this, PO1C Smith steps out of the building and lets a pop up flair fly high. After seeing that the helicopter crew instructed. "Report to the clearing to the east of your current location. Bring only the gear that you have with you." Marcus with all due haste made his way to the field and entered the helicopter. As it was lifting off, he waved bye to his team member and all of the "corpses" that his team had left behind that were now on their feet wondering what this interruption to the training exercise was about.  
  
Upon the helicopter's landing, Petty Officer First Class Marcus Smith was rushed into the field headquarters located in the center of the base camp that had been constructed for this 2 month long training exercise.  
  
The first thing PO1C Smith noticed upon entering field HQ was the somber face of Captain Tomeru who was sitting behind his desk. This was extremely uncommon, for Captain Tomeru who joined the Navy SEALs right out of college, and had seen more special ops action than any other currently active SEAL was always joking and always had some sarcastic comment for the SEALs under his command whom he seemed to have a honest deep affection for. The look on Captain Tomeru's face was enough to give this normally fearless SEAL a sinking feeling in his heart and a dread to hear what the older man had to say.  
  
" Petty Officer have a seat please." The Captain stated.  
  
Marcus Smith did as instructed because it was well known, no matter how politely Captain Tomeru phrased something it was never anything less then an order.  
  
" Well, lets start with the easy part shall we? I've approved you for a minimum of one-month leave. You are to return home and take care of matters there. If, as one month draws to a close you feel you need longer all you have to do is contact me and you'll have as long as you feel you need."  
  
The way his captain worded the statement worried PO1C Smith all the more, for he hadn't requested any leave time and to his knowledge there was nothing at home that he needed to take care of.  
  
"Begging the Captain's pardon sir, but do you mind if I ask what this is about? I'm about as confused as I can be right now. We were ordered to this combined training with the Marine's Force Recon, the Army's Delta Force and Green Berets in preparation for some large sale joint operation that's up and coming. Now, I'm being told to take a month away from everything to take care of something I didn't know that I need to take care of." PO1C Smith replied.  
  
"This is the hard part. It's the first time I've ever had to deliver news like this and Lord willing it will be the last." Captain Tomeru sighed heavily and finished, " Marcus, I'm sorry to inform you that your parents were killed yesterday afternoon."  
  
The look of pale shock on Smith's face gave Captain Tomeru, a man who has experienced more death then most people will in a lifetime during his time with the SEALs, a beginning case of depression.  
  
"From what little information the Red Cross has passed along they both died quickly and painlessly, but I feel you should also hear it from me that they were murdered."  
  
Military formality partially forgotten in his grieving shock, PO1C Smith stood and asked, "Sir. May I be excused?"  
  
" Of course son. The helo that brought you here has been briefed on the situation and has orders to return you to San Diego. There you can grab what you need and go home. Your leave is effective immediately." Tomeru replied in soft, gentle, understanding tones.  
  
Without another word and still in complete and utter confusion, PO1C Smith stood, left the field HQ, and walked zombie like to the helicopter that brought him in from the field no more then 5 minutes ago.  
  
*****  
  
A few days later, Marcus Smith stood at the graveside funeral service that was being held for his parents. His train of thought was miles away from the minister's words. His thoughts were on things of the past. Of the vacations shared with his parents. Of them being at all of his football games, wresting matches and amateur boxing matches from about the time he was able to walk, they never missed a single one. Of his stepfather who was really the only father he had ever known since his biological father had died before he was born. The life lessons, which both parents had taught him, including the one that he credited most with getting him into the Navy SEALs, giving up is never acceptable. As he stood there, looking like someone off of a recruiting poster for the U.S. Navy in his sparkling dress white uniform, in his misty eye confusion he struggled to comprehend why someone would murder in cold blood two of the kindest gentlest people he had ever known. These were people who were loved by everyone, just look at the turn out on this beautiful June day. Quick rearrangements had to be made when it became apparent that the moderate size church building his parents had worshiped in wasn't going to be sufficient to hold the pure volume of people, quickly everyone was moved from the church building to the grave site where the bodies his parents would forever sleep.  
  
*****  
  
Long into the wee hours of the morning, Marcus Smith paced his parent's house in a kind of dazed zombie like trance. Being an only child, he has a lot to accomplish and no idea of where to start.  
  
Most of his time after the mourners had left the house had been spent looking at the family photo albums, looking at the various knickknacks that his parents collected over the years, that kind of thing.  
  
He made his way into attic where everything, including his confusion of why someone would kill decent people such as his parents in cold blood, began to change and take on a new awareness.  
  
He found an unlocked fireproof safe. He opened it and found all sorts of strange items. A few journals, several military marksmen medals, two handguns that had fallen out of service do to a lack of up keep and so on the list went.  
  
Opening the first journal, a sudden since of shock overwhelmed him when he saw whose it was. This was Mack Bolan's war journal. Right here on page one he is talking about beginning his war on the mafia because of the murder of his parents and teenage sister at their hands. As he read on he learned about Mack Bolan deserting the U.S. Army during the Vietnam War for his own personal war. It seemed that he had read the entire journal in no time flat.  
  
Marcus couldn't contain himself; right here in his hands written in Mack Bolan's own handwriting were the personal war journals of one of the greatest arch villains since Billy the Kid. Much myth had grown up around this man, books, movies, and comic books and though he remains America's most wanted man, no one has ever been able to explain the sudden end to his war. "How did my parents end up with this stuff?" Is the question he was asking himself over and over.  
  
The answer became apparent about half way through his second journal when he read these words, "My war has once again brought me into contact with Toby Ranger[1]. Only her name isn't Toby Ranger any longer. Apparently her career as an undercover agent has put her just under me on the cannibals'[2] hit list. That forced her retirement and going into hiding under an assumed identity provided to her by the Justice Dept. She is now Barbara Newbouie." At this, Marcus had to lay the journal down. Barbara Newbouie was his mother's maiden name. His mother was never an undercover federal agent. She couldn't have been. Could she?  
  
He read on, "This meeting was by pure chance. I stopped off in a city called Portage on my way to Detroit again because the cannibals there didn't learn their lesson the last time I was there. In Portage I stopped to eat at a mom and pop type food joint and there she was waiting tables. She came over and said 'Act like you don't know me, I'll explain everything after I get off work.' And explain she did. In addition to catching me up on her life, she explained to me that during our time together I became a father. I have a son." Marcus laid the journal down. This was getting to be a little much. Not only was his mother an undercover law enforcement officer that worked against the mob, but also she knew Mack Bolan personally. Not only did she know him personally but also she became pregnant by him during a fight with the mob in Detroit. "I have a half brother out there somewhere whose father is Mack Bolan." Marcus said to himself in utter amazement.  
  
He read on, "She named my son Marcus." At reading this Marcus Smith passed out.  
  
After recovering he put the journal aside and stepped outside to smoke a cigarette. "No wonder I never knew my dad. He was Mack Bolan. He must have continued his war and been killed by the mob. The mafia has always been good at making sure no one finds the body." He said to himself.  
  
When he felt that he had enough of his emotional balance back he returned to the attic to read more of the journal. Mack Bolan, or dad Marcus guesses he should consider him had stayed in Portage for several weeks instead of moving on to Detroit as planned. The next interesting journal passage he found stated, "I spoke with Hal[3] today. He was the one who placed Toby aka Barbara in her current position of safety. In good conscious, knowing that I know have parental responsibilities I cannot abandon Toby and Marcus to continue my war. I have avenged the death of my family and the deaths of many others hundreds of times over. I have missed the first 5 years of my son's life. I won't miss anymore. Hal has told me that he can make me disappear and that he would be in touch."  
  
"Parental responsibilities?" Marcus thought, "I was not raised by Mack Bolan. I was raised by my step father James Smith because Mack Bolan did abandon us."  
  
In a later entry Marcus read, "Well. Mack Bolan is no more. As of today I am James Smith. The social security card, the driver's license and everything I need to prove it arrived in the mail from Hal today along with James Smith's personal history, which I have to memorize every last detail of. Toby, I mean Barbara, it is going to be very hard for me to get use to calling her that, has agreed to marry me. Since Marcus's father is officially dead, I am going to adopt him and raise him in the belief that am no more then his stepfather. This isn't going to be easy for me, I want him to know that I'm his father and that I gave up everything I am to be his daddy. But, the way the cards have fallen, that simply is unable to happen."  
  
On several occasions Mack Bolan had noted his strong desire that Marcus not follow in his footsteps, but also his fears that the events of life would lead him into war with the mafia just as it had him. On Marcus's enlistment in the U.S. Navy Mack had written, "Marcus left for basic training today. I can't begin to say how pleased I am that he chose the Navy over the Marine Corps or the Army. He is going to be an electrician in the Navy, he will not learn the skills needed in order to follow in my footsteps." Then after Marcus had graduated his SEAL training Mack had recorded, "It turns out the security I felt in Marcus joining the Navy was unfounded. It's not his safety I fear for; I served in Vietnam and would be proud if my son fought for his country. What I fear is that the Cannibals will one day find Toby and I, and that Marcus will be filled with the same rage I was when they killed my parents and kid sister[4]. I fear that he will use the skills he has learned in the Navy SEALs to become the angel of death that I once was. I hope for any life other then that for him."  
  
*****  
  
Marcus spent the better part of the next several weeks glued to the Internet attempting to locate the people his parents had known before they became James and Barbara Smith. He had read and reread the War Journals several times and wrote down every friendly name to Mack Bolan that he could find.  
  
Finally, he located Hal Brognola. Mr. Brognola was now a presidential appointee the director of the Central Intelligence Agency. It took him another couple of weeks, but Marcus was able to arrange a meeting with Director Brognola in Washington D.C., although no details to the purpose of this meeting had been discussed.  
  
*****  
  
Marcus Smith entered CIA Headquarters wearing a simple non-descript black suit, white shirt, and light blue tie. He stopped at the main desk, informed the security officer sitting there of his identity and that he had an appointment with Director Brognola. The security officer picked up the phone and made a call.  
  
Within minutes a sharp looking Hispanic male walked up to Marcus, stuck his hand out and said, "Mr. Smith, its nice to meet you. I'm Phil Lopez, assistant director of the CIA. Feel free to call me Phil. Director Brognola asked me to bring you to his office, so if you'll follow me." Upon saying this Phil Lopez turned around and started walking away.  
  
When they entered the office Marcus noticed an extremely withered old man sitting at the desk. The old man stood up and with the assistance of his cane hobbled over to Phil and Marcus. Marcus thought, "This is the Hal Brognola that was once upon a time in charge of the federal forces meant to bring down the notorious Mack Bolan?"  
  
The old man walked over and shook hands with Marcus saying, "Mr. Smith it is my pleasure to meet you. Phil, you may leave now, thank you for bringing Mr. Smith to me."  
  
Without another word, Phil Lopez took his leave.  
  
"Please Mr. Smith, don't think of me as rude. I've had some unexpected business come up at the last second and cannot keep our meeting right now. Besides, I doubt you will want to speak with me right here anyway. For being the headquarters for our nation's intelligence, these walls have a surprisingly high amount of ears. I shouldn't be long, so let's say the Capital Building visitor's cafeteria in an hour."  
  
Marcus agreed to this and took his leave.  
  
*****  
  
An hour later, Marcus Smith was seated at a table in the visitor's cafeteria in the very building where most of the major decisions effecting this nation's domestic and foreign policy are created. Hal Brognola hobbled in and sat down across the table from him.  
  
"Before you say anything Mr. Smith, I know who you are and why your hear." Brognola opened discussion.  
  
Taken a little aback Marcus said, "You, you do? How? I never once told anyone why I wanted an audience with you."  
  
Hal chuckled and stated, "Do you really think I would have been appointed director of the CIA if I wasn't able to find out exactly what I wanted to know about anyone in this entire country and most of the world?"  
  
Marcus smiled at this and said, "Well, I guess not."  
  
"Your father and I had very much a love hate relationship. I was in charge of the taskforce that was designed to bring him down. Aside from the one time I actually gave bring Mack down my all; I have always had a deep respect and a brotherly love for your old man. When I learned of his death, even a man such as my self couldn't help but shed a few tears. I assume your hear because you want to follow in your father's footsteps and take your fight to the mob, and you would like my assistance."  
  
"Yes sir, I do." was the reply.  
  
"What about the SEALs? You still owe the Navy 3 years."  
  
"Sir, with all due respect, the SEALs are able to go on without me. This is the death of my family we are talking about. You know as well as I do that the government will never bring the people who did it to justice. Someone has to, and who better to slip in on them undetected then a former SEAL?"  
  
"Former SEAL?" Hal asked with some shock.  
  
"Yes sir. My dad deserted the Army and now I have deserted the Navy to avenge him, with or without your help."  
  
"You know what this means if your caught don't you?"  
  
"Sir, yes I do. If I am caught I'll do my time in Leavenworth with my head held high because what I'm doing is right."  
  
" Like I told you, I loved your old man, and I shared his wish that you wouldn't ever find yourself in this course of action but I will help you. Exactly how much help I can be I don't know for sure. First of all, I'm an old man. I plan on either retiring or dying soon and I will not risk my pension being caught helping you. You will be what is considered a wet boy. That means you have no official license from my office or this agency. If you are caught, you are on your own, I will deny ever knowing a Marcus, Barbara or James Smith. Am I understood?"  
  
Marcus nodded his head informing Director Brognola that he was.  
  
" I will provide you with as much Intel as I can, I will provide you with weapons, gear, outfitting and financing to begin your operations. After this you will be expected to do as your old man did. Take your money from the mafia's ill-gotten gains. Likewise you are to take as much equipment and intelligence as you can."  
  
Hal paused to let this sink in, and Smith nodded his head asking him to continue. Hal passed a folded paper across the table.  
  
"You will only speak to me. I will be the only person that knows of your operation's ties to my office. You will call this number when you need to. Never use your real name. You are Junior. I am Firecracker. Those are the only names to be used."  
  
Marcus nodded his head in agreement.  
  
"Ok, I want you to go back to Portage and do nothing but wait. I will be in touch with you shortly. Everything you will need will arrive to you there. I shouldn't expect that we would ever meet again."  
  
With this the 2 men stood up and shook hands.  
  
"Mr. Brognola, it was an honor to meet you. From his journal's I can tell that my father held you in the highest regard."  
  
"To you Marcus, I'm Hal. No need to be formal between us. We are after all practically family. Your dad was like a brother to me, and I wanted to meet you so bad ever since the day Mack told me about you. I knew I couldn't without compromising his safety and yours. I'm so very glad we were able to meet finally." The old man said with a smile on his face.  
  
The two men shook hands again and parted ways.  
  
*****  
  
A few days later, Marcus Smith stood staring at himself in the full body length hallway mirror. His gifts from Hal had arrived. He was dressed in a black, skintight suit of body armor. The pockets, which were numerous, were filled to capacity with various tools of his new trade. An all purpose knife adorned each of his arms and legs, he had a bandolier of hand grenades around his chest, in his left arm was an M-16 and in his right was a sawed off shotgun. These were just the tip of the iceberg of Christmas gifts provided to him by the CIA.  
  
To himself, Marcus thought, " Like my father before me, I am the angel of death. Death and revenge are now a family business. Like my father, the mob will live in fear of me, knowing that I could at anytime sneak in like a thief in the night and steal their lives. Which is what I fully intend to do. Mack Bolan gave them nightmares, Mack Bolan Jr. will make their nightmares reality." ----------------------- [1] Toby Ranger was an undercover operative in the Mack Bolan books. I've read her exploits with Mack Bolan in # 19 Detroit Deathwatch and # 22 Hawaiian Hellground. From things I picked up reading these books she appears for the first time in #9 Vegas Vendetta. [2] This is Mack Bolan's term for criminals in general, but he applies it to the mafia most often. [3] Hal Brognola was the head of the federal anti-Bolan taskforce and charged by the President of the United States with bringing in Mack Bolan dead or alive. In secret Brognola was an ally of Bolan's in his war on the mob. [4] Book One, War Against the Mafia 


	2. From The Head On Down

CHAPTER 2: FROM THE HEAD ON DOWN  
  
The events of downtown Chicago seem to be the same day in day out things that all of the residents are use to this late at night. But unknown to everyone, Chicago has a new visitor tonight.  
  
A man, dressed in all black is lurking on a fire escape to an old rundown looking apartment house. The man is wearing a skin- tight all black suit with one knife attached to each upper arm, and one of the front of each thigh. He also had one pistol strapped to his chest with another in his hand. What was contained in the bulging cargo pockets of his combat armor was anyone's guess.  
  
In silence he crouched at the window of an apartment rented by a man who is the only one that Hal Brognola of the CIA has been able to remotely connect with the death of this man's parents.  
  
Thoughts raced through his mind, " Marcus, what are you thinking. The U.S. Navy now wants you for desertion; so you can kiss off your honorable discharge, your career, your future is nothing more then a long visit to Leavenworth. If you go through with this, it will take the mob a little while to figure out who you are, but sooner or later you'll have a price on your head larger then your dad did. If you back out now, all you have to worry about is a life on the run from military justice. If you go through with this, you have running from military justice, civil authorities, bounty hunters and mafia headhunters to look forward to."  
  
The sight of his prey and a female entering the apartment pulled is mind back to the present and not the world of his future. His die was cast, and there was only one thing to do, proceed.  
  
Marcus Smith aka Marcus Bolan continued to sit in the darkness observing the goings on of the apartment. It wasn't long until he sees the door burst open and 2 very well dressed men come in one of which is carrying a bag. Smith watched as one of the men forced his target into one room and the other forced the apartment's female occupant into another.  
  
This was an unexpected turn of events. Smith didn't know what to make of these new players so the man in black just sat there observing. After a little time passed Smith heard a blood-curdling scream come from his target.  
  
With this, Smith/Bolan slowly opened the window to decrease the amount of noise he made. Silently he crept to the room he had seen his target forced into. He saw his target tied into a bathtub fill with scalding hot water. The water was red with blood. He noticed his game with very large and very deep cuts running vertically down the entire length of his torso, and a hole drilled into the side of his neck. He was still alive, but with the amount of blood coming from his neck, and the amount of blood sharing the bathwater with him, he wouldn't be for long.  
  
Bolan pulled the knife from his left arm and shoved it through the throat of the hit man before he could raise an alarm to his partner. The mobster fell into the bathwater with just a few light guttural sounds. If he died from the wound or from drowning no one will ever know. Just that when Bolan pulled him out of the water long enough to recover his knife before dropping him back in face down, he was still alive.  
  
Marcus Bolan snuck from the bathroom to the bedroom where he entered and saw the female handcuffed to the bed totally nude. It appeared that this hit man would never have the fun that he planned on having before he killed her. Her face and chest were bruised. She had blood coming from her nose and the corner of her mouth. Bolan decided he had a deep dislike for this man right away. He grabbed his opponent by the neck and drove him backwards into the wall, following with landing his knee in the man's groin. As the man started to collapse, Marcus rotated and flipped the man over his shoulder landing his knee on the man's throat killing him instantly.  
  
Bolan walked over to the bed and used one of his knives to free the lady from the handcuffs.  
  
" Throw on some cloths. Don't worry about making yourself pretty, we have to get going." Bolan said tossing a marksmen medal on the chest of his dead adversary.  
  
*****  
  
Not a word was exchanged between the two in Bolan's van. She was in shock over her near demise and complete change that her life would have to undergo, not to mention the confusion as to who her knight in black body armor was. Bolan's dark thoughts swam around his war having just began and turning back now no longer being an option.  
  
20 minutes later, they pulled up outside a diner.  
  
"Lets go in." Bolan said sharply.  
  
"I didn't bring any money." Was her reply.  
  
"I've got it, now lets go in." Bolan said stepping out of the car before she could reply.  
  
*****  
  
They sat in the diner, at first not speaking. Neither of them was sure of what to say.  
  
"The medal you threw on Joe's chest after you killed him, what was that about? That is the thing that Bolan guy did. Are you trying to ride on his name?" She broke the ice by asking.  
  
Ignoring the questions, Marcus asked some of his own, "Joe?" You knew those guys?"  
  
She lowered her head. "Yes. They were associates of my fiancée."  
  
"Associates? What do you mean by that." Bolan asked pretending ignorance.  
  
" Are you really going to make me tell you?" She asked on the verge of tears.  
  
"Well, since I saved you from womanly humiliation, and by judging on what was done to your fiancée a painful death, I do think I deserve to know."  
  
"Vincent? Did they hurt him as bad as it sounded?"  
  
"That's off the topic." Marcus said shaking his head, "Just take my word for it. You don't want to know. Lets start with this. I'm Mack Bolan Jr. What's your name?"  
  
"I'm Alexis. Alexis Devano." She replied with a sudden awareness of the name she had just been given. " Jr.? Is that why you were at our home? If Rudi and Joe hadn't killed Vincent, were you going to?"  
  
"To be honest with you. I don't know the answer to that." Marcus shrugged, "I suppose that it would depend on how corporative he was with me. However, we need to get back on topic. I saved your life, and then bought you dinner. You owe me some answers."  
  
"What do you know and what would you like to know?" Alexis asked resting her head in her hands.  
  
"First, why were Rudi and Joe there to off you and Vincent?"  
  
" Well, I'm sure you know Vincent was a hit man. A mook street drug dealer stiffed Brian DeAngelo out of just under 20 grand in cash. Vinny knew this dealer, so he was sent to recover as much of the money as he could and then make an example of him. Well, Vinny got sentimental and told the guy to run and run he did. He ran right to Brian DeAngelo to beg his forgiveness. I don't know what Brian did with the dealer, but Vinny came home in an awfully hurry to make tracks as far away from Chicago as the money we have on us could get us." She began crying, "We didn't hurry enough."  
  
" I know Vinny was connected to the murder of my parents. I want to know how and what role he played." He said with an utter lack of compassion for the attractive woman in front of him.  
  
Alexis brought herself under control and looked at him, " He had nothing to do with it. Sure, he knew about it and since he knew about it so did I. One of Vinny's biggest problems was he told me everything he shouldn't have. He was even suppose to have been one of the hammers to ummmm hurt your parents. He was even there, but the day it happened he was sick. The poor man couldn't even get off the toilet long enough to walk into the other room. So when the other four hammers left the hotel room, Vinny stayed behind. You may not want to hear this, but he was really disappointed to. The hit on your dad, it was a feather in each of their caps to have been selected for it, and then the four who carried it out. They are now gods in the underworld, but since Vinny didn't participate, he was the butt of many jokes."  
  
Marcus allowed this to sink in. "Who found my parents, and who ordered the hit on them?"  
  
She gave a light chuckle of unbelief, " You mean you really don't know."  
  
"Know what?" Bolan asked with his lack of patience betraying his voice.  
  
"The hit on your old man. That was a multi-family affair. I don't know who found them. Someone connected to the Vitale family of New York. The Commission, so Mr. Caparone since he is the Commission Boss, is who made the order. Hammers of five different families carried out the hit. Well, ok four since Vinny didn't participate. The planning was done by another family."  
  
"Who were these hammers and who was the family that did the planning? Marcus asked making mental notes of everything she had told him. He knew of The Commission, it was kind of the United Nations of the mafia families. Six families had the muscle so therefore had control of The Commission. They were, the Gravani of Detroit, the Damino of Dallas, the Devenolla of Los Angles, the Milazzo of Seattle, the Vitale of the Bronx, and the Caparone from right here in Chicago. Felix Caparone was the most bloodthirsty and the best businessman of the lot, so therefore the Commission Boss.  
  
"I don't know who all the hammers were. Vinny never said. All I know is that there was one represented from each of the main families except for the Vitale."  
  
Marcus allowed this to sink in. "What else do you know?" He asked pointedly.  
  
She gave a deep sigh and said, "Nothing. I don't know nothing else."  
  
"Are you sure?" Marcus persisted.  
  
"Look! I've told you everything I know! I have nothing else!" Alexis answered beginning to raise her voice.  
  
Bolan made a lowering jester with his hand, silently telling her to keep her voice down. She understood this jester and complied.  
  
"Ok, now this is what I want you to do." Marcus began is a voice so cold that it made a December ice storm seem like a humid August day, " I want you to go to Mr. Caparone and tell him that Mack Bolan Jr. is after him. Running will do him no good. I will pin a marksman medal on his chest if I have to chase him to Timbuktu."  
  
Alexis gave him a look of astonishment, "You can't be serious."  
  
"Why not?" Bolan asked.  
  
"They have already tried to kill me once. You stopped them for now. But I'm a dead woman. As soon as they learn that I'm still alive another hit team will come for me. If I try to see Mr. Caparone, I won't make it past the front door of his house. His security would whack me on sight."  
  
"And this is a concern of mine how exactly? You got yourself mixed up in this life style. Now you get to sleep in the bed that you've made." Bolan said in a colder voice yet  
  
Alexis began to cry, "I can't help it who my parents were. I've always enjoyed the benefits of this life, but always hoped to marry out of it. It's all I know. I wouldn't have chosen this life if the choice had been mine. Please, please don't send me off. I will be dead before tomorrow's sun rises."  
  
The heartstrings inside of Marcus began to pluck. His natural compassion for a woman distress and his upbringing to never turn his back on someone in need, especially a woman got the best of him. He stood up.  
  
"Come. Lets get out of here Alexis."  
  
With that, they left and returned to Bolan's van.  
  
*****  
  
Later that night, Marcus Bolan and Alexis were in the hotel room that Marcus had rented.  
  
Alexis was watching the small T.V. provided by the hotel.  
  
Marcus, now out of his combat rig was wearing a plain black T-shirt, blue jeans and hiking booted with a Glock 9 millimeter holstered at his hip. He walked across the room to the phone on the nightstand next to the bed. He picked it up and dialed the phone number that Hal had given him back when the met in Washington D.C.  
  
"Operatives report line. To which handler should I direct your call?" The voice on the Washington end said.  
  
"Firecracker."  
  
"Which operative is this?"  
  
"Junior."  
  
"Hold please."  
  
A few second pass and Marcus recognized the voice of Hal Brognola on the other end, "Status report Junior."  
  
" Everything here is stable. The target I came here for has been eliminated. I have also discovered at least one more here. I've also gained Intel you might be interested in."  
  
"Well, lets have it." Was Hal's reply.  
  
"I have not yet been able ascertain how the counter intelligence was received. But, it ended up in the hands of The Commission. The Commission is who placed the hit order. All of the main families were involved. One planning, and the other 5 sending hitters."  
  
"What is the source of this Intel?"  
  
"A woman."  
  
"A woman? What kind of answer is that?"  
  
"When I went to the mark I came here for. He had some company arrive that I didn't expect. They made a mess of my mark for me so I wasn't able to get any from him. I didn't have time to get any from them, they weren't very friendly. I was however able to save my mark's girl. She has proven very useful."  
  
"What's her current status?" Hal asked.  
  
"She is here with me. Under my protection for the time being." Marcus answered.  
  
"Junior. Watch your back. Mob women are not to be trusted. They will cut your throat just as soon as they will get you into bed."  
  
"Yeah, I know. I'm not letting my guard down."  
  
"Get rid of her."  
  
"What about her safety or more Intel she may be able to provide us down the road?"  
  
"Intel we can get from other sources. You can't trust having her around you. Once a big price is on your head, she may forget about the hit on her and turn you in. If you want to cultivate her as an information source, so be it. But you meet her on your terms, don't keep her with you."  
  
"Firecracker, don't worry. I can handle myself. I'm a big boy now."  
  
"Ok. I'll drop that. You may want to reconsider your op for another reason."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"Your up against the entire commission. Those boys are no joke. I would advise you to drop the op the plan currently stands. Complete it with a different plan, a different way."  
  
At this point, Alexis through a pillow at Marcus. When he turned to face her with a scowl on his face she pointed at the T.V., and said, "You may want to see this."  
  
Bolan said, "Hold a second Firecracker." And sat on the edge of the bed with Alexis.  
  
The news reporter at the apartment building the two of them had been at earlier was saying, "No one knows for sure what happened here. An unnamed police official informs us that all three of the victims were made men in the Mafia. This story takes an even more interesting twist though." She held up a marksman medal. "A medal just like this one was found at the scene. According to our informant, this medal is identical to the ones that Mack Bolan used to put his signature his kills in his war on the mob. Did Mack Bolan really survive the attack on him and was just reported as dead by the government? Do we have a copycat loan gunman going after the mafia? Or as some say, has Mack Bolan returned from the dead to seek vengeance for himself and his wife? We don't know but we will keep you updated as new news breaks. For WQPB this is Amanda Sumnter reporting.  
  
Bolan returned to the phone, "Well, we've made the evening news here Firecracker. They are guessing pretty close to the mark to."  
  
"Well, with the calling card you left they didn't have much of a choice in that regard now did they." Was Hal's reply.  
  
Marcus chuckled, "No, I guess not."  
  
"Not to cut this short Junior, but I've got other matters to attend to. Do you have anything else to report, or anything your in need of."  
  
"Negative."  
  
"Ok then. Take care, keep your head down. And as someone we both have in common was fond of saying, stay hard." With that Hal hung the phone up.  
  
Bolan laid down on the bed and covered his face with his hands.  
  
"A penny for your thoughts hero." Alexis said as she laid down next to him on her side looking at Marcus intently. "I'd be overcharging you at that price right now. I've got to get some sleep, tomorrow is going to be a long day and there is nothing more that staying awake can achieve for me now." He said standing up and taking off his shirt. "Why don't you take the bed and I'll take the floor."  
  
With this he took the pillow that had been thrown at him, unholstered his Glock and placed it inside the pillowcase. Within seconds the day was over.  
  
*****  
  
Before the sun rose the next morning Marcus Bolan was sitting inside his van outside of the few addresses that Alexis was able to give him from memory. From location to location he drove, making contact with no one. All he did was sit unobtrusively taking photos of the various people she saw coming and going from these houses, apartment buildings, food joints and clubs. He continued this until well after sun down, until he felt he had enough photos to get a feel for who everyone was. After this he had his film developed at a one-hour photo shop and went back to the hotel.  
  
*****  
  
Once he was back in the hotel room with photos in hand, it wasn't long before they were spread all over the bed and night table.  
  
"This one, I saw him a lot. Who is he?" Marcus asked Alexis.  
  
"That is Frankie Caparone. Felix's kid brother." Was the answer.  
  
"How big of a player is he?" Marcus asked with a plan formulating inside of his mind.  
  
Alexis gave a loud, short laugh. "How big of a player? He isn't. The guy is one of the dumbest people you will ever meet. He couldn't add one plus one without having to pull out his toes to go along with his fingers, and then it would take him an hour to figure it out."  
  
Marcus gave her a questioning look, "Then how did he ever become a made man?"  
  
"He didn't. No one has ever trusted him enough to give him the blood oath, and they never will."  
  
"An older brother who is the boss of bosses, and a little brother who isn't trusted enough to be made. This is interesting. Why is this?"  
  
"Well, Frankie is known to give the police real small amounts of information when pressed. As far as I know he has never given them anything big, but he has gotten a few little guys pinched and created a few ulcers for his big brother. That and he is really easy to scare."  
  
"Why is he still breathing?" Bolan asked.  
  
" Well, Felix feels sorry for him. First of all, Frankie is more then a little slow in the head. I've also heard that now and then he hears voices speaking to him that really aren't. The only reason he hasn't disappeared, or had some accident is his brother."  
  
Marcus rubbed his smooth shaven chin and said, "I see. What kind of role does he play then?"  
  
" He doesn't do anything. That's all he can be trusted to do right."  
  
Satisfied with the answers on Frankie, he moved on to the photos that were taken outside of Felix Caparone's house. "These two hard men standing outside the door. The stood there for hours really not doing anything. They are part of Mr. Caparone's security?"  
  
" Yes."  
  
"What other kind of security does the house have?"  
  
"You're not thinking about hitting the house!" Alexis said with a pure look of shock on her attractive face.  
  
"Maybe. I don't know what I'm doing yet." Is how he answered.  
  
"I was only there a handful of times for parties and the like. So I don't know the plan all the way. A wife doesn't have a need to know. But I can tell you what I saw." Alexis offered.  
  
" That's all I can ask." He said with a smile.  
  
"Well, he never has less then three guys outside the door. That guard is doubled with two or three guys who stay inside the door. The back and side doors are similar, the have two men on the outside and two on the inside. There is one man at each ground floor window, I think there are twelve windows on the ground floor in all, but I'm not sure. Mr. Caparone is never by himself unless he is showering or sleeping. There is never less then two guys with him, sometimes as many as six.  
  
Marcus chuckled, "This guy a little paranoid or what."  
  
"Well, you don't get to be the most important don in the country without making some pretty heavy hitters mad. You don't get to be the most important don in the country without other don's gunning to take your place. I would say his paranoia is justified." Bolan shrugged in agreement, "Or having an revengeful son after you."  
  
He pulled out a few more photographs.  
  
"This guy. The really ugly one that is always by a car. Who is he?"  
  
"I only know him by the name Fast Willie. He is Mr. Caparone's driver."  
  
"What kind of security precautions are taken while Caparone is on the road?" Marcus asked.  
  
"I don't know that. You'd have to find someone on the inner circle and ask them. Frankie would be your best option."  
  
Satisfied with these answers, Marcus continued on asking Alexis questions about everyone else he had photographed during his day's work.  
  
*****  
  
Early the next day, Marcus was sitting in a rental car down the street from the Caparone house. He chose a rental car to lessen the chances of him being recognized by Felix Caparone's security or anyone else.  
  
He had a plan, but he just needed to learn a little more before he could put it into play. With Vincent Degovno taken out for him already he only had one more person to take his revenge out on here in Chicago, and that was Mr. Felix Caparone.  
  
Then he saw what he was looking for, Frankie Caparone's Lincoln Town Car pulled away from where it was parked along the street and the only person he saw get into it was Frankie. Marcus pulled is rented Ford Escort out of it's parking spot and followed Frankie. He followed Frankie a party store and waited patiently for him to come back out.  
  
After Frankie came back out, Marcus, wearing his full battle regalia, walked up to him and said, "Hey pal. Think I can bum a smoke."  
  
" No harm in helping another smoker." Frankie said reaching into his shirt pocket.  
  
As soon as Frankie took his attention off of him, Marcus pulled a mini baseball bat from his shirtsleeve and cracked him in the side of the head. Frankie landed hard and unconscious on the parking lot.  
  
Marcus then dragged him over to the Escort and stuffed him on the floor behind the driver's seat.  
  
*****  
  
The woods were dark in the last hours of the sun being up. Frankie Caparone had sat with his chest facing a tree for so many hours that he wasn't sure of how many any more. He was tied to the tree at his waist, and his ankles and wrists were bound together on the opposite side of the tree from him. He hadn't been able to call out for help because someone had duct taped a sock into his mouth while he had been unconscious. Who had put him here, why, or even when he was put here were all things that he didn't know. The last thing he remembered was starting to give a guy a smoke at the Quickie Mart and then BAM here he was. Whoever had put him here hadn't returned yet. The only company he had were the ants that kept climbing over him since he was placed on a series of anthills, the bees that stung him on occasion from the hive about 4 feet from his head and the various other animal life that inhabit these woods.  
  
Finally, Frankie heard someone walking up behind him. Unable to turn to see his captor or speak to him Frankie just sat in the same position he had for so many hours.  
  
"Well Frankie. What a position for a big bad mobster to be in huh." Marcus said from behind him. "If I ungag you will you be a good boy and tell me what I want to know?"  
  
Lacking choices Frankie nodded his head up and down in an affirmative.  
  
Bolan removed to duct tape and sock.  
  
"Now, I want to know everything you can tell me about the house security your brother has."  
  
Frankie told Marcus what he already knew about the ground floor. He did learn however that the stairs had one man on each floor, and that the two upper floors both have one man patrolling.  
  
"Now, how about when your brother is traveling somewhere. What kind of precautions are taken then?" Was Marcus's next question.  
  
"The main one is that Fast Willie takes Felix's car out a lot on his own. That way if there are any hitters looking for him they won't be able to tell if Felix is actually in the car or not. The only other measures are the bodyguards that that he takes with him."  
  
"Any other security concerns about the house or the car I should know about?"  
  
"No sir." Was Frankie's answer.  
  
"Now, Fast Willie. Does he live at the house, or somewhere else."  
  
Frankie laughed.  
  
"What's so funny?"  
  
"No one lives at the house except for Felix, myself, Felix's sons when they are in town, and the house hold servants. The cooks, maids, those kind of people."  
  
"How far does Willie live from the house?" Marcus asked.  
  
" He doesn't. Just a block over in the apartment complex. He doesn't even drive to work unless the weather is bad."  
  
"Ok, thanks. You've been very helpful Frankie." Marcus said as he pulled the silenced Glock from his pocket.  
  
"Don't think me. As soon as I tell Felix about this everything is going to change. Security will be tighter. And you will have more head hunters on you then a rat in the family would." Frankie said.  
  
" Well, I'm sorry to tell you this Frankie. But you won't be telling anyone about this little chat." Marcus said putting the Glock to the back of Frankie's head and pulling the trigger. "He kills my family, I kill his. I just wish his sons were in town." Marcus muttered as he put the Glock away.  
  
After killing Frankie, Marcus untied him from the tree and pinned the marksmen medal to his cheek to make sure that it would be found. When this was completed, he carried the body over to the side of the hill that overlooked the highway. With a quick shove, Frankie Caparone was on his way rolling down the hill to the highway and to his eventual discovery.  
  
*****  
  
The next morning, a red Ford Escort pulled up next to Fast Willie as he left his apartment building. The window rolled down and out of curiosity Willie looked over.  
  
"Excuse me sir. I'm from out of town and I was wondering if you could help me make since of this map." Marcus said.  
  
Willie walked over to help the stranger the stranger who was dressed in an odd black skintight outfit. When he leaned down to the passenger side window he was met with a silenced Glock right between his eyes.  
  
"Now, quickly and quietly get into the car. If you tell me what I want to know, you will not be hurt."  
  
Seeing no other choice Willie got into the car and they drove off.  
  
Not much later, in a dark ally, Marcus Bolan had Fast Willie handcuffed to an old and rusty fire escape.  
  
"This can be as easy or as hard as you make it Willie. You do understand this right?" Marcus asked.  
  
"I'm not telling you anything." Is how Fast Willie replied.  
  
Marcus shrugged, "That's fine by me Willie. If you choose the hard way, we can do that."  
  
"If you let me go now Mr. Caparone may settle with just breaking all of your bones but let you live." Is how Fast Willie answered.  
  
With this, Marcus took the brick he had tied into a bath towel, swung it around three times to build up speed and let it crash into Fast Willie's face, breaking his nose. Willie began to cry.  
  
"Big bad mafia tough guy Fast Willie. The one Mr. Caparone won't let do anything but drive him around. You have a dead end job my friend," Marcus said in a mocking tone of voice. Then in a deadly serious tone of voice he said, "If you don't tell me what I need to know, that dead end job will become very literal. Do you understand me?"  
  
Willie answered this by spitting the blood that had begun to accumulate in his mouth from his nose at Bolan. Marcus's reply to this was a steel toe into Fast Willie's groin.  
  
Chocking back the pain in his voice Willie said, "Ok, ok. What do you want to know?"  
  
"That is easy. Answer it and you will be on your way. When is the next time that you have a schedule to drive Mr. Caparone somewhere?"  
  
With a look of shame on his face for betraying his don, Willie said, " Two days. That's when he is having Frankie's funeral. It's being held at the Catholic church that his family traditionally goes to."  
  
"What time and what route will you take?" Was Bolan's next question.  
  
After Willie had told Marcus everything that he was able to, true to his word Marcus unlocked the handcuff and shoved Willie into a wall.  
  
"Listen closely Willie. If anyone asks about your nose, you fell in the shower this morning. If anyone asks why you are late, you over slept. I have no beef with you; the only person in Chicago that has to die now is Mr. Caparone. If you mention this to anyone at all, it will be Mr. Caparone and you both that have to die. If you keep your mouth shut, I won't hurt you. Am I understood?" Bolan stated.  
  
"Yyes." Willie stammered in reply.  
  
With this, Bolan let him go and said, "A word to the wise. Be sick the day of Frankie's funeral. I gave you my word that I wouldn't hurt you. So I don't want to. Do not drive Mr. Caparone anywhere that day."  
  
Willie didn't reply, he just got out of the ally as fast as he could.  
  
*****  
  
Two days later, Marcus Bolan stood in the wooded outline that bordered the road outside of Chicago that was on the path to the church building that Frankie Caparone was to be laid to rest at. Dressed from head to toe in his black combat regalia, face and painted black, the man standing there with a Stinger missile launcher on his shoulder, which was on loan from the CIA, blended in perfectly with the shadows and wasn't visible from the road.  
  
As Felix Caparone's Mercedes came into view, Marcus depressed the launchers trigger and let the small hand held missile fly at its target. The Stinger missile hit the back half of the car sending auto parts and flame all over the place.  
  
With this, Marcus dropped the Stinger missile launcher and emerged from the wood line and moved with an M-16 at the ready. He moved to the wreckage and began searching what was left of the back half of the car. Finding no bodies, he moved to what was left on the front half of the car and found only one person. Fast Willie was sitting there hanging to life by the barest of threads.  
  
"Willie! I told you to be sick today! Where is Mr. Caparone?" Bolan said.  
  
With blood coming out of his ears, mouth and nose Willie answered, "Hhe took another route with one of the Capos. Sent me," Here Willie paused "Sent me to throw off any hitters that were looking for this car."  
  
"Well, it worked." Bolan thought.  
  
"Willie, I'm sorry. I really didn't want to hurt you." Marcus said aiming the M-16 at Willies head and squeezing off one shot, releasing Willie from his suffering.  
  
After this was done he tossed a marksmen medal onto the corpse of fast Willie, and said "Give my regards to Mr. Caparone." and walked back to his van that was parked a mile down the road, ahead of this spot.  
  
*****  
  
After news of Willie's death and the attack on Mr. Caparone's car arrived to Caparone house, things were far from peaceful. Felix Caparone was in a rage.  
  
"Mr. Caparone, I'm telling you. We had to have missed Bolan, and he has come back for us." One of Caparone's men said.  
  
"That's the only explanation. We had to have missed him." Another chimed in.  
  
The portly Felix Caparone stood up from his chair and in a raised voice said, "Bolan is dead. The boys did their job and proved it. BOLAN IS DEAD! I want to hear no more of his surviving. It did not happen."  
  
This ended the discussion, although Caparone failed to change anyone's mind. To each of his men, Mack Bolan was back and coming for each of them.  
  
"Now I want everyone throwing ideas at me. I want to know who is doing this." Caparone said.  
  
"The cops?" One guy suggested.  
  
"No. That's not their way. That is too far over the law for them to step." Caparone answered.  
  
" Some hotshot vigilante trying to make a name for himself by pretending to be Bolan." Another suggested.  
  
"That's possible. But why aim at us. A vigilante would know that he can't get anywhere with us. He would be best of sticking to muggers, whores, and drug dealers. Besides, the hardware this guy packs, that's not something an everyday nobody can pick up at the local gun shop." Caparone replied.  
  
"Maybe someone inside the family making a power grab?" Another man suggested.  
  
"Oh I hope not. However we can't ignore it." Was Caparone's reply to this.  
  
"Another family?" A third man suggested.  
  
"Hmmmmm," Caparone said thoughtfully, "Now that is an interesting thought."  
  
"Did Bolan have any family?" Another asked.  
  
Caparone thought for a second before saying, "None that I was ever given a report on by the Vitale."  
  
A few moments when by and no one said anything else.  
  
"Any other ideas?" Caparone asked.  
  
When none of his best men spoke, Caparone said. "Ok, I was a few men on the vigilante possibility. I doubt that this is the case, but we can't afford to ignore it. I want more men checking into the other families. I think that is where we are going to find our culprit. I also want a few men looking quietly into our own family. We can't ignore this either when my life is on the line. It wouldn't be the first time that young upstarts have taken out the old men to take control. Tomorrow I'll get a hold of don Vitale to see if Bolan had any relatives we weren't told about. I'll leave it up to you guys to figure out who looks into what, but I want it done. Starting right away. Whoever is killing us, I want his head stuff and hanging on my wall before he gets me. Are there any questions?" When no one asked anything further don Caparone said, "Ok. Now get to it." With that, everyone left the room except for Mr. Caparone's bodyguards.  
  
*****  
  
At the same time Felix Caparone was meeting with his men about him, Marcus Bolan was back in his hotel room just as upset as old man Caparone over his attempted hit but for different reasons.  
  
"I was so, SO close to having him. Why wasn't he in that car? HE SHOULD HAVE BEEN! Why was Willie there? I told him not to be. I DIDN'T WANT TO KILL HIM! His death is on his own head, not mine. I told him not to be there, but he didn't listen." Bolan said as he paced the hotel room.  
  
Alexis just laid on the bed, keeping her thoughts to herself.  
  
"How am I going to get him now? He knows someone is after him. His security measures are going to become a lot stronger then they have been so far." Marcus continued his ranting and raving.  
  
Marcus paced the room in furious silence for what seemed an eternity. Then he stopped lit a cigarette and looked out the window as if he was coming to terms with what just came to mind.  
  
"I'm going to have to blitz the house. That's the only way I'll get him. There is no way he is coming out of the house now. Not after today." He said after exhaling slowly.  
  
Alexis had a look of utter astonishment on her face and could no longer keep her thoughts to herself. "Are you out of your bloody mind?" She asked in a raised voice, but not yet yelling.  
  
"What do you mean by that?" Bolan questioned.  
  
"Well, its not an estate like some of the dons have, but that house is a fortress. It is designed not to be broken into. You try that and you will die."  
  
"That's possible. That was something I accepted when I first decided to resume my dad's war." He answered.  
  
"BUT YOU CAN'T DO IT!" She said on the verge of tears at the top of her voice.  
  
Marcus was kind of taken aback by her reaction. He held her close and said, "Do you know what I did before I started this war?"  
  
"No." She said with the tears coming out of her eyes evident in her voice.  
  
"I was a Navy S.E.A.L. I got into and out of more heavily guarded places then that without breaking a sweat."  
  
"But with them you had a team. Now you don't. It will be just you doing this." She retorted.  
  
He held her tightly trying to comfort her, "My dad did this all the time. He blitzed so many places like this and worse and always made it out. I'm a lot better trained for this then he was. I will be fine." He said.  
  
"I don't want you to do it Marcus." She said no longer trying to hold the tears back.  
  
"You don't want me to, I don't want me to, but I am. There is no since in getting all broke up over it. But, I do need to know more about the inside of the house. So I need you to come back to yourself and tell me what you can."  
  
They separated.  
  
"I've already told you everything I know."  
  
"I guess all I need to know is where Caparone's bedroom is. I'm assuming, that if everything falls apart on me there they will retreat to his bedroom, and his security will mass to protect him there." Marcus said.  
  
"I'm sorry, but I don't know where his room is. I've never had a need to know." She said.  
  
Marcus sighed, "That's ok. I knew it was a shot in the dark asking you."  
  
"Are you doing it?" Alexis asked.  
  
"Yup." Was the distant reply.  
  
"When?" Alexis asked.  
  
"Tomorrow." Came another distant reply  
  
"So, how do you plan on doing it?" She asked.  
  
Bolan walked over to the window and lit another cigarette, "I wish I knew." He said.  
  
*****  
  
As the sun made its appearance the following day every thing appeared as it should outside of the Caparone house. Everything except for the rented black Dodge Intrepid that was parallel parked along the street with its trunk closest to the house's main door. What the two guards at the main door to the Caparone house couldn't see was that the trunk was not completely closed, and what they couldn't have knows is that particular trunk contained their deaths.  
  
Marcus Bolan was balled up in the trunk with a silenced sniper rifle snug to his shoulder, with the barrel just barely outside he took a bead on the closest of the guards. With a pull of the trigger the guard fell with a hole where his eye once was.  
  
There wasn't even time for what had happened to register with the second guard before a bullet entered his ear and felled him.  
  
Realization as to what has happened dawned on the third guard's face, but before he could send out an alarm, one of Bolan's little messengers of death added a hole right between his eyes.  
  
Bolan waited a few minutes to make sure that his handiwork hadn't been noticed before climbing out of the trunk. Once out he turned around and placed the sniper rifle back in the trunk and pulled out a small black backpack that matched his battle gear and slung it over one shoulder.  
  
Quickly, silently and deadly Marcus moved to the front door and placed the three newest bodies to the body count in the huge bushes that lined the walkway to delay their discovery.  
  
After doing this he quickly proceeded to the side of the house. He peeked around the corner and saw that the side door and saw only one guard. He waited a few seconds to make sure his partner wasn't returning anytime soon. Once he felt safe with this, he waited for his target to turn his back, snuck up and with a slit of the throat there was one less guard to worry about. This body Bolan placed in a garbage can that was right next to the door.  
  
Once this was completed, Marcus moved to the next corner and peeked around. Here he noticed two guards. He unholstered the silenced Glock and dropped these guards one at a time. As soon as he was positive that no one had seen this happen he moved to the bodies and then dragged them into don Caparone's garden.  
  
At this point he removed the backpack from his shoulder and took out a collapsible ladder. He unfolded the ladder and with the Glock in hand, put the backpack back on his shoulder and climbed the ladder. Once he reached the third floor he silently opened a window and climbed in.  
  
*****  
  
Once inside the house, Marcus took a second to turn around and pull the ladder in behind him. Once the ladder was in he quickly folded it and placed in back in his backpack. Then he closed the window as silently as he had opened it. He noticed a closet to his right, placed both the ladder and the backpack in it and closed the door.  
  
Quietly he slowly moved down the hallway until he saw the third floor patrol guard step out of a room. Before the guard had time to notice him, Marcus pulled a throwing knife off of his web belt and let it fly. The knife landed blade first in the guard's temple, and he died with a bare minimum of noise. Marcus then pulled his body back to the closet with his backpack and placed the guard in it.  
  
Marcus then snuck behind the stair guard and broke his neck. This body to was placed into the closet, along with the other corpse and backpack.  
  
With all known threats removed, Marcus Bolan began his search of the third floor. Ten minutes later he was satisfied that Felix Caparone wasn't on this floor, because he saw no one besides the two guards.  
  
He moved to the stairs and worked his way slowly and quietly down them. When he came to the second floor, he ran into the second floor stair guard face to face. Before the guard could say anything Bolan put his arm out and grabbed the guard's Adams apple and squeezed until he had no life left in him. This body was also deposited into a near by hall closet.  
  
Not seeing the patrol guard immediately Marcus began searching the rooms. The fourth room he came to was much larger then the others. It appeared to be a master bedroom suite. Bolan searched the main area of the suite and finding no one moved on to the bathroom. There he found Felix Caparone sitting on the toilet still in his bathrobe.  
  
"What the" Was all Caparone had the chance to say before 2 silent bullets landed in his chest from the Bolan's Glock.  
  
"That's for my parents." Was all Marcus said.  
  
The Wall Street Journal that Caparone had been reading landed spread out on his lap. This is where they would find the Marksman medal awarded to Felix Caparone by Marcus Bolan.  
  
With his purpose for being in Chicago finished, Bolan worked his way quickly back to the suite's door. The mistake he made was not peeking into the hallway prior to entering it. He met the second floor patrol guard, who was standing next to the railing, eye to eye.  
  
"You, who are you?" The guard challenged while pulling out his pistol.  
  
Bolan answered this challenge by letting another throwing knife fly hitting the guard in the throat. Only this time Bolan's luck ran out as this newest body fell over the railing and to the ground floor.  
  
Marcus's hopes for a few seconds before the body was seen were quickly dashed by the harried voices coming from the floor below. Knowing that it would only be seconds before this floor was flooded with more made men then he could handle, Bolan tossed a hand grenade onto the stairs. The resulting hole in the stairs would buy him a few seconds while confusion settled on his opponents.  
  
Using these few seconds to his advantage, Bolan ran to the closest window and broke it out. He then shimmied down the steal storm drain to the ground.  
  
He had to trade a few shots with the mafia that were beginning to come outside of the house, but made it safely to the Black Dodge Intrepid, which he sped off in to a location two miles from his hotel. He parked it next to his van, removed the sniper rifle from the trunk and switched vehicles driving back to the hotel.  
  
*****  
  
As soon as he walked back into his hotel room, he was all encompassed in a strong embrace from Alexis and before he knew what was happening she planted a kiss right on his lips. "I was so worried about you." She said, her face giving the appearance that she had been crying.  
  
Marcus answered this by pushing her away, "You're an attractive woman, but I can't let myself invest in anyone emotionally. Odds are I will be dead before the end of this war, so it would be a mistake for you to invest emotionally in me. Don't do that again." He said.  
  
Being fully rebuffed for showing her affection, Alexis backed off and Bolan began packing his things in a hurry.  
  
"Are we going somewhere?" Alexis asked.  
  
"It's done. Caparone has ordered his last hit. However, I am now the most hunted man in Chicago, so I'm splitting town right away. If you still don't feel at ease staying in town I can drop you any place you want to go." Bolan answered.  
  
"How about if I stay with you for awhile? I have no place to go, and I know it won't be long until Mr. Caparone's underboss takes a second to think of things other then you and remembers me. I'm still not safe here."  
  
Wanting to argue, but knowing that Alexis was right Marcus said, "Fine. You can't keep coming on all my assignments with me, but my family house is in Portage, Michigan. That's where I'm basing myself out of. You can stay there until you arrange something else."  
  
With that they both packed up everything they had with them, got into the van and jumped on I-94 for the three hour drive to Portage, Michigan. 


	3. Savage World

CHAPTER 3: SAVAGE WORLD  
  
After wreaking havoc in Chicago, Marcus Bolan returned to Portage, Mi. This is where the majority of his gear that has been supplied by the CIA was stored. While there, he decided that the house of his parents was no longer safe. Since he was wanted for desertion from the U.S. Navy, I wouldn't be long until this house became property of the U.S. Government. So, he rented a house under one of the many Ids provided to him by Hal Brognola and moved everything. He moved Alexis in with him, and supplied her with everything she would need to live on. After this he informed Firecracker of his intentions. These intentions were to hit Sal Damino of Dallas, Texas since he was likely to be installed as the next Boss of Bosses. Hitting Sal in Dallas also made since because that would prevent Marcus from setting up a geological trail for The Commission to figure out who he was after next.  
  
*****  
  
Immediately after arriving in his hotel room in Dallas, Marcus dropped his gear and made contact with Firecracker.  
  
" Firecracker, its Junior reporting in on my last op. The target was neutralized, along with many other unfriendly sorts. I have arrived to my next assignment." Bolan stated.  
  
"What's your situation there?" Hal asked on the other end of the line.  
  
"Not good this far. Unlike my last target, these targets are on a ranch and not a house really open to the street. I have as of yet, not been able to recon it effectively. What kind of assistance can you provide me?" Marcus answered.  
  
"The agency is unable to provide any. Your goals are generally not in our realm of worry. I will however check it other agencies that are familiar with your line of work and get back to you." Hal informed.  
  
"I guess that will have to work. Junior out." Bolan said with obvious disappointment in his voice and hung up the phone.  
  
After hanging up, Marcus put his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his palms. "How am I going to hit these guys when I know nothing about them." He thought.  
  
*****  
  
Two days later, just as Marcus is beginning to go stir crazy in his hotel room a package arrived for a Mr. Allen Marksville, which was the name he was registered under from a collectors shop in Washington D.C.  
  
Marcus chuckled and wondered just how Hal knew what name he was registered under. Was American intelligence really that good?  
  
It was just a matter of seconds before surveillance photographs and reports from the F.B.I were spread all over his room. He read a letter from Hal, which said, "Junior, I'm sure that you will find the contents of this package more useful then anything that I could have told you over the phone. I believe that this is everything and more that you will need to know to make your op there successful. If however you do find yourself in need of anything else, don't hesitate to contact me. I'm always as your disposal. Firecracker."  
  
While sorting through the information, he learned many things about the Damino family. First, that they are two of their biggest incomes are from producing porn movies, and prostitution. To supply the fresh supply of women for these ventures the family owns a strip club which is operated by the families youngest son John "one eye" Damino, the name one eye came from his loosing an eye in a training accident during his short stint in the U.S. Marine Corps, and a dance club which was ran by the Sal's oldest son Adam. The family was also suspected of dabbling in kiddy porn but the FBI lacked sufficient evidence to make a strong enough case for the federal prosecutors. He learned of Sal's two other sons who from all evidence appeared to be no more then strong men for their father with no real potential for advancement into family leadership like Adam and John. He learned about the family's underboss. He learned which family members go to which restraunts on which days. He learned, just as Hal had promised, everything and more that he would need to know for this op. Of most interest to Marcus though, was the report into the investigation of the Bolan executions. In this report, Adam and John were listed as the most likely suspects. The F.B.I couldn't say for certain which of them were in on the hit, but all evidence pointed to one of the two of them.  
  
Marcus took a break from his work and stepped outside of his hotel room to take a walk in the humid evening air and enjoy a cigarette. "I have three people in Dallas to play avenging angel with. This could get fun." He thought.  
  
*****  
  
The next night Marcus sat in the Pleasure Palace, which is the strip club owned by the Damino family. For being this early it was full to capacity of drooling patrons. The reason for coming this early was so that he could see One Eye Damino come and then take him out, but it wasn't going to be as easy as expected.  
  
Dancer after dancer offered Bolan either a topless table dance or a special dance in the back room. Bolan wanted to, after all he may be the angel of death for John Damino tonight, but he was still a guy, and all of the dancers in this club were above average looking women. He foremost had to keep his eyes trained not on the women but on the other guys in the club until he could find his target. Marcus also wouldn't allow himself to pay one of these ladies to dance for him because he knew who is money would be going to, the very people who killed his parents and more then likely dozens to hundreds of other people over the years. You couldn't become a made member of the mob without having at least one hit under your belt, so Mr. John "One Eye" Damino was a far cry from being an innocent.  
  
Marcus once again opened the cover of the porn magazine he bought to conceal his photograph of One Eye. He had never seen the man in person and wanted to be sure that he had a positive identification of him before taking any action so that he didn't accidentally hurt an innocent. He looked at the photograph and then scanned the club; he looked at the photograph and then scanned the club.  
  
Finally he saw his target, standing at the bar talking to some of the club's bouncers.  
  
"This club has a lot of bouncers. I can't tell if they are armed or not. I had better be careful in how I do this." Marcus thought.  
  
Marcus sat there for two extra hours, trying to be discreet and blend into the crowd. Then finally his chance came; he was One Eye head for the club's entrance with a particularly attractive dancer. Bolan stood up, placed a generous tip on the table for the waitress and followed them out.  
  
In the parking lot, Bolan cleared his throat loudly and said, "Excuse me sir?" to John Damino.  
  
Damino turned around and said, "Get out of here."  
  
However before he could turn back around Marcus pulled his unsilenced Magnum 357 out of his jacket and fired two shots into John Damino's chest at point blank range making an awful mess of him and his car behind him. Bolan chose not to use the silencer on his hit because he wanted as many people as he get to find the body.  
  
Marcus dropped the marksman medal on the corpse of John "One Eye" Damino and turned his attention to the exotic dancer who was in hysterics. To her he said, "Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you. However, I do want you to spread word that Mack Bolan is back and he is coming for Mr. Damino. Do you understand me?"  
  
She nodded her head in a wordless yes and Marcus disappeared down the street to where his van was parked.  
  
*****  
  
The next day, the three surviving Damino sons, don Sal Damino and the family's underboss Arnold Vechi stood in the den of the main house on the Damino ranch. Charlie, Mike and Adam Damino discussed their current situation with Vechi while the don stood in his own world.  
  
"All I know is that whoever this guy is, he sure made a mess of the Caparones up in Chicago." Arnold said.  
  
"We know who it is. It is Mack Bolan, the dancer said so herself." Charlie said.  
  
"It is not Mack Bolan. I was there. He is as cold as a frozen pizza." Adam retorted.  
  
"It doesn't matter right now who it is. What we have to learn is why? Why is this maniac coming after the most powerful families? Doesn't he realize that after that Caparone affair, the rest of us would be paying attention? Why us? There are a lot easier families to hit, like the Caparones who are centered in a house open to the street. Why try to hit a family centered on a ranch? He has to know that he won't survive." Arnold said.  
  
"But before we can answer that, we need to know who it is, or who they are." Adam answered again.  
  
"Word among our boys is that it is the ghost of Mack Bolan, coming back for to revenge this own death. Right the last wrong done to him." Mike said.  
  
Then, unexpectedly don Damino chimed in, "What is this? What talk is this from my own blood? Ghosts? Come on, if your mamma heard this, her heart would be even more broken then it is now over Johnny."  
  
With these words, everyone became quite.  
  
"Now, your brother Adam, he is a good boy. He would not come back here and tell me that Bolan was dead if he wasn't. I want no more Bolan talk. What it is is another family. They know I'm to be the next boss of bosses, but they want the power to themselves. The question is, which family is it?"  
  
"No family has any reason to cross us pop. We've always been straight in our dealins with them." Mike Damino said.  
  
"Power alone is a sufficient reason." Sal answered.  
  
"Then why would they pretend to be Mack Bolan?" Arnold asked his boss.  
  
Sal Damino chuckled, "Simple. To throw us off. They want us looking for someone who isn't there. That way, the can waltz around us and take us out at their leisure and we'd know none the better."  
  
Once again silence ensued the room.  
  
Sal broke the silence by saying, "Arnie. Find out who is here. We have people at the airports, and the hotel and we own the taxi companies. Find out which families are represented in Dallas and take them for a little check up with The Doc."  
  
"As you wish Mr. Damino." Vechi replied.  
  
More silence controlled the room.  
  
Vechi broke it this time by saying, " Not to change the topic. But we can't let this Bolan situation distract us from our other business. We still have the undercover cop nosing about."  
  
Sal Damino scratched his head and said, "Take him and give him to The Doc. Once The Doc is finished with him, dump the body right on the front steps of the cop shop. I want them to know that if they try to put someone inside of us, that person will die. And not only die, but in the worst way we can arrange."  
  
*****  
  
As this conference was occurring, Marcus was only yards away from the Damino Ranch with the hood of a Champaign colored Chrysler La Baron. While he looked like he was working on making a quick repair to keep a break down running he really had a small spotting scope set up under the hood and he was keeping an eye on the goings on of the Damino Ranch.  
  
His curiosity was caught when he was Arnold Vechi, Mike Damino and someone that he had never seen before leave the main house and get into a car.  
  
Bolan pulled the spotting scope from the engine compartment of the car and closed the hood. He then got into the La Baron and followed their car.  
  
*****  
  
They pulled up outside of a non-descript concrete building, which had no markings of any kind other than other then the graffiti that the street taggers left behind to show that they were there. Marcus was parked a discrete distance from the building. It wouldn't do to be seen and have to fight his way out of a bad situation this early in the game. He did however; notice the worried look on the face of the man he hadn't seen anything on in the F.B.I file.  
  
It wasn't long until Vechi and Damino came out of the building minus the third unknown guy. Marcus sat there for several hours just observing. When there was absolutely no movement from the building he decided to take a closer look.  
  
Not knowing what to expect, Marcus took his 357, his silenced Beretta, a sawed off shotgun that was slung to his shoulder and 5 hand grenades just for good measure, all of which were well concealed under the leather duster he wore.  
  
Marcus walked from his parking space up to the cement buildings door, which very much to his surprise was unlocked. He let himself in and found himself in a long hallway that hadn't had any upkeep done to it in years. He unholstered the Berretta and cleared each room as he came to it.  
  
"Whatever reason the mob keeps this building, it sure has limited usage." He thought to himself as he noticed each room being completely bare of any furniture.  
  
When he reached the last room he opened the door quickly to surprise its occupants since he hadn't as of yet had any contacts, he knew he would in this room with his Berretta at the ready.  
  
The door flew open and Marcus quickly swept the room. The only potential threat in the room was a short, almost anorexic looking guy, in his mid to late 50's, with very thick glasses who was wearing a blood stained lab coat. This guy was washing his hands as Bolan entered to room and very quickly complied with Bolan's order to lay on the ground face down with his legs spread and hands on the back of his head.  
  
Bolan looked around the room and noticed the room while far from being sterile was set up a lot like a doctor's office. He saw tools that you would see in an operating room, he saw just about every tool you could buy at a hardware store. As a matter of fact, just about anything that could smash, cut, dice or slice was in this room. All lovingly stored in it's own place.  
  
On the bed you usually see in the doctor's office was the third guy who had entered with Vechi and the Damino boy. He was strapped to the bed completely nude. His eyes had been removed from their sockets and lay on the floor. His teeth appeared to have been pulled out one at a time. On a little stand next to the bed was a cigar cutter, which Marcus assumed by the blood on it, had been used to chop off his fingers one at a time. The poor man's manhood had been removed. Areas of flesh all over his body had been cut and then ripped backwards while other areas of flesh had just been cut out with almost surgical precision. All of this appeared to have been done without the assistance of any thing to kill the pain.  
  
Marcus walked over and checked the "patient's" pulse and found none. Mercifully the man was already dead. He walked over to the guy lying on the floor and with the Berretta pointing at him, said, "Get up now. Slowly."  
  
Trembling the little man did as he was told.  
  
"Who are you?" Bolan asked in a short-tempered type of way.  
  
"I'm Leo Vanduchi." The little man answered.  
  
"You did this?" Marcus asked.  
  
"Yes sir." Leo answered.  
  
"Why?" Marcus continued his inquiry.  
  
"He was on a turkey order."  
  
"What do you mean? What is a turkey order?"  
  
Leo chuckled and said, "You really don't know anything do you."  
  
"Why don't you just consider me a tourist and give the grand tour." Was Marcus's retort.  
  
Leo took his glasses off and cleaned them, "I'm what is called a turkey doctor. The family brings people to me that need to be made an example of. They are brought here and I make turkey out of them." He said waving his hand towards his latest work on the table, with a hint of pride.  
  
"At what point do you grant them death?" Marcus asked.  
  
Leo shrugged, "I don't. That's entirely up to them. Whenever they can't take anymore and die."  
  
With a feeling of disgust for this little man Bolan continued by asking, "You said you're a doctor. Are you really?"  
  
"Well, I started medical school but got kicked out. They said that I wasn't right in the head. That I enjoyed cutting things up too much. I believe that the word sadistic was used on my actual transcript." Is how he replied.  
  
"I see. I have to say that I fully agree with the school." Marcus said targeting Leo with his silenced Berretta and ended this torture spree life. "It is truly a savage world you have chosen to live and die in.  
  
At this point, Marcus decided that after he had finished dismantling The Commission, these turkey doctors were going to become a major target of his war, and that the Battle of Dallas wouldn't be over until Arnold Vechi and Mike Damino paid for what they had put this poor guy through. Regardless of who he was or what he did, he did not deserve an end like this.  
  
To claim full credit for the kill, Marcus dropped a marksmen medal on the body that was once Leo Vanduchi and left the building.  
  
On the way back from The Doc's Marcus wasn't paying attention to his speed and quickly noticed the flashing red and blue lights behind him. He complied with the request that the lights were making and pulled the La Baron over to the side of the road.  
  
A young police officer, who couldn't have been on the force for more then a year walked up to the car. Marcus had the Allen Marksville Ids ready.  
  
The first thing out of the young officer's mouth with excitement was, "You're the guy."  
  
Marcus looked at him with a puzzled look and said, "Excuse me officer?"  
  
"From Chicago. The guy who put the Caparone's through the meat grinder. You're him."  
  
A feeling of dread covered Marcus Bolan.  
  
"Officer, you've mistaken me for someone else. I don't know anything about any Caparones and I've never been north of North Carolina." He lied.  
  
"Nah, no way buddy. You are him. That stripper gave as a very good description the night that One Eye Damino died. And you look just like the face on the sketch. Your him." The rookie police officer said with obvious excitement.  
  
Bolan sighed, "Ok officer. Your right." He said preparing to drop the car into drive and speed off.  
  
"Its an honor to meet you sir. It's a real good thing you're doing. About time someone takes it to these guys on their own terms. I get sick of seeing them get away with crime after crime, but getting away with it because they know just exactly how our hands are tied. You wouldn't be looking for a partner would you?" The young cop congratulated.  
  
Bolan obviously relieved chuckled and said, "Thanks young man, but this is a personal war and I wouldn't feel right taking a partner. All that is ahead of me and anyone who joins me is a sure fire death. It's too late for me, the die is cast and I will eventually go out in a blaze of glory. You on the other hand, you can still have a long life ahead of you with a wife, children and grandchildren. Just keep doing things with your hands tied, keep your nose clean and you'll live a lot longer."  
  
"Well sir. Know that you always have a friend in Dallas. You're a good man and I wish you nothing but the best of luck. Just watch your back, there are a lot of us who think the way I do, but there are a few who hope to bring you in and make a name for themselves." The young police officer said.  
  
"Thank you for the heads up. Please, if you tell anyone of this, let everyone know that I consider us soldiers on the same side of the battle. While I won't let myself be taken alive, I will never fire on a police officer. If one of your guys tries to take me in, they will have to shoot me in the back because I will run." Marcus said.  
  
The two shook hands and parted friends and allies.  
  
That night, Bolan entered the Meat Market, which is the club owned by the Damino family and run by Adam Damino.  
  
Marcus sat there, slowly drinking a Bud Ice watching the events of the club. Much to his pleasured surprised Charlie and Mike Damino were also patrons in the bar this night. Their fatal mistake to make. Marcus left the club for about a half hour, came back and ordered another beer.  
  
Then he saw the main target of tonight's op. Adam Damino was walking around the club, apparently just seeing how things were going. Marcus watched him make his rounds and then walk to his office in the back.  
  
The avenging angel stood up and followed Adam to his office. Before opening the door, he pulled the silenced Beretta from under his jacket. Then he casually opened the door as if he did it on a nightly basis, stepped in the office and closed the door behind him.  
"What are you doing in here?" Adam challenged.  
  
"Adam, Adam, Adam. Your brother John wasn't very nice to me and look at where he is now." Was Bolan's reply as he took a bead on Adam with the Beretta.  
  
"You are a dead man." Adam said.  
  
Marcus shrugged, "Maybe, but then so are you." He said firing three shots into Adam's chest.  
  
Bolan dropped a Marksman medal into the wine glass Adam Damino had been drinking out of and turned to face the assistant club manager and said, "I've got no problem with you. So do as I say and you will live to be an old man, or at least you will not die by my hand. Understand me?"  
  
The assistant club manager shook his head in acknowledgement.  
  
"Good. Now I want you to wait in this room for one hour before leaving. When you do, tell everyone you meet that Mack Bolan is back and is not happy with Mr. Damino. If you leave this room before the hour is up, I will know and I will kill you on the spot. Understand me?"  
  
The assistant club manager once again shook his head in acknowledgement; he stopped off at the bartender and left word for the two surviving Damino brothers of a much better party. After doing this, he made his exit from the club.  
  
As soon as they heard about the new party, both Damino brothers left the club with a woman each and got in their car. As soon as Mike turned the car on, it went up in a loud explosion. Pieces of car landing everywhere damaging the cars of other patrons and the brief flair up of flames showed bright. In that second, Mike and Charlie Damino joined Adam and John Damino in preceding their father in death.  
  
Wasting no time after taking out the last of the Damino brothers Marcus got to the other end of town where Arnold Vechi was eating his monthly Mexican meal at a restraunt that was also owned by the family and was a crew hang out.  
  
Marcus sat in his van outside the place until he saw Arnold Vechi and another made man come out. Then he stepped out of the van with his sawed off shotgun and sent both mobsters to meet the Damino boys and Felix Caparone. Before leaving however he did award both of them a marksman medal.  
  
After that night's work was done, Marcus Bolan returned to his hotel room where after a shower, and a quick bite to eat he turned on the news so that he could catch the breaking story of his latest handy work and turned his attention to the information provided by Hal Brognola.  
  
He began removing all Intel on those who he had awarded the Marksmen Medal of Death to. Photos, reports, everything was removed because it no longer did him any good to have it.  
  
His focus was mainly on Sal Damino, mostly his day-to-day habits and the ranch including the house in general but more specifically it's defenses.  
  
"Well Mr. Damino. You haven't been seen off your ranch in over two years. How am I going to get to you?" He thought.  
  
As he studied the intelligence Marcus heard on the T.V., "This just in. A major blow has been dealt to the Damino crime family here in Dallas. In one night, it lost 4 of its main members and 3 of its working class arm. Adam Damino was shot in his office at the Meat Market dance club and whoever did it walked out of the club unnoticed by anyone but the club's assistant manager who said that it was no other but the believed dead Mack Bolan. Also occurring at the Meat Market was a car explosion in its parking lot. Inside the car were Mike and Charlie Damino along with two of the prostitutes that are believed to be under the umbrella of the Damino's family's illegal income. As if this wasn't bad enough, on the other side of town Arnold Vechi, the underboss of the Damino family was gunned down along with Antonio Marsa who is a known soldier in the Damino family. With the death of John Damino earlier this week, the family's Godfather Sal Damino doesn't have any more sons to leave his legacy or corruption and crime to. This comes just weeks after the Caparone family was just about destroyed in Chicago. From the reports we have received, marksman medals just like the one's used by the infamous Mack Bolan during his one man war in the late 60s and early 70s, have been left on the bodies here in Dallas, and on the bodies of the mob dead in Chicago. Is Mack Bolan back to seek revenge for his own attempted murder? We don't know but we will bring you more news on this as it occurs."  
  
Marcus smiled to himself and went back to work studied his information and formulating a plan of a final strike here in Dallas.  
  
"The information here on the number of people on the ranch is sketchy at best. What this tells me about the security on the ranch appears to be very understated. A man like Sal Damino would have better protection then this. And I can't find a thing about security on the house."  
  
He spent a few more hours pouring over the information he had received, but only became more and more frustrated. Finally he stood up and stepped out the door sitting in the fresh air with an Arial photo of the ranch it's self and lit a cigarette. "I'm going to have to create some big distraction to get everyone one the ranch in one location at one time. I have no choice but to blitz the house just like in Chicago, but I don't want to go into in completely blind. I won't be able to know where exact guard posts are, but I will be able to see how many people come from where." He thought to himself.  
  
The next morning on the Damino Ranch, Sal and his chief bodyguard were spending hours on horseback discussing business all over the ranch so that no one else could hear.  
  
"I spent all last night trying to comfort poor Helena. We have lost all our boys now." Sal was saying.  
  
" Don Damino, I can't begin to say how sorry I am for your loss." The bodyguard began.  
  
He was cut off by Sal who said, "Then don't. I don't want condolences, I want whose ever is doing this head on a platter by the end of the day."  
  
"Sir, we will get his head. But I think we should get you out of Dallas and to the Crawford Ranch until we get him. I can't guarantee we will have him by the end of today, and no place in Dallas is safe for you now. I dare say not even here on the ranch. If we move you secretly to the Crawford Ranch. And I mean secret. Only me, you, and a select few others will know about it. That way there are no leaks. It will take at least a week for whoever is doing this to figure out your not here. We will have him by then." The bodyguard answered.  
  
Sal considered this for a few minutes and said, "Yes. I think your right. I have a couple of things I need to wrap up here, but I can be ready to go by Tuesday afternoon."  
  
"No sooner boss?" The bodyguard asked.  
  
Damino sighed, "I regret not. I have to take care of the final arrangements for my boys."  
  
That night, Marcus Bolan dressed in full battle regalia was fully intent on sneaking onto the Damino Ranch. He came right up to the metal chain length fence and examined it for alarms. Seeing that there was none, he took out bolt cutters and cut a hole barely big enough for him to crawl through in the fence, "Sloppy security." He thought as he breached the ranch.  
  
He crawled forward, scouting the path to his destination first. He only saw one guard who was sitting in a jeep meant for patrol sound asleep. He quietly cut the guard's throat in his sleep making it so he would never have to worry about waking up again and tossed a marksman medal on the jeep's dashboard.  
  
Then he quietly, but faster then before moved back to the hole he had made in the fence line and pulled his sniper rife and 8 gallons of gasoline through the hole.  
  
After this he moved to the pole barn used by the Damino's for storage and poured gasoline around the interior and exterior of the building. Then he made a long trail of gasoline leading away from the pole barn. When he felt he as at a safe distance, Marcus took his lighter and lit the gasoline.  
  
As soon as this was done, he quickly moved to the area he had chosen for his sniper's nest which was 500 yards to the east of the barn. The plan was once there to use the scope on the sniper rifle to count how many Mafioso came running to the fire and to make note of where they came from. He had opted to bring the sniper rifle along instead of a spotting scope just incase his target of opportunity showed his up, be Bolan highly doubted this would occur.  
  
It wasn't long until his plan began to work. Made men came from all over, deserting their posts, to the fire. Marcus counted each person as they showed up, being very careful not to count the same man more then once and made a mental note to the best of his ability where everyone came from.  
  
Then the unexpected happened. Mr. Target of Opportunity Sal Damino stepped out of the house with two of his bodyguards.  
  
"Mr. Damino this is a bad idea. It is too much of a coincidence after some maniac taking out our men for that fire to be accidental. You should stay in the house until we can guarantee your safety." One of the bodyguards said.  
  
"No, whoever this is wants me to be in the house away from all my best men. That way he can take me out without any of you knowing until later. No, I'm safer out here." Is how Sal replied.  
  
A matter of seconds after saying these words a loud crack was heard and Sal Damino grasped his throat. A red liquid flowed heavily between his fingers. He slumped to the ground fighting to hold to life, but it was a fight he quickly lost.  
  
As soon as Marcus Bolan got back to his hotel, he loaded his things into his van and hit the road. Things in Dallas were going to be getting extremely hot very shortly and it would be a mistake, possibly a fatal one to stay here any longer then he had to.  
  
Driving down the freeway, with nothing to do but think, Bolan reflected, "What a mess you've gotten yourself into now Marcus. Deserted the U.S. Navy, you have fifteen confirmed kills in Chicago. Now another ten confirmed kills here in Dallas. That's twenty-five confirmed kills in less then a month, and it's only the beginning of your war. You still have four Mafia bosses to pay a visit to, and then you have to find out who gave the Vitale family it's information on where your parents were living. Then after that you have the turkey doctors. Then after that, you have whichever mafia made man is unfortunate enough to wander into your crosshairs. You know the truth; you're a soldier in a war. But you also know that the government will consider you no more then a common mass murderer if they catch you. Yes, this life you have chosen, and it is just beginning." 


	4. Families At War

CHAPTER FOUR: FAMILIES AT WAR  
  
The red Porsche drove down the residential street coming to a stop in the driveway of a small house decorated with a fake brick exterior. The driver, an average looking male in his early twenties, stepped out of the car and around to the passenger door, which he opened. The female passenger stepped out and almost immediately their arms went around each other as they walked to the front door.  
  
It was late, so once at the door, the two exchanged a few words and then kissed good night. The driver returned to his car, backed out of the driveway and drove off.  
  
****  
Less then a mile down the road high beams of headlights pulled up so close behind the Porsche that they were all the driver could see in his rearview mirror.  
  
This would have made any driver nervous, but more so for this one due to the lifestyle he lead. This very well could be more then just a bad driver who forgot to turn his high beams off. This could be real trouble.  
  
Then the van behind the Porsche passed it on the left, so close that they almost sideswiped each other. Once the van passed the Porsche, it cut back into the same lane so close that the only chance to avoid a collision was for the Porsche's driver to take his car off road, which he did narrowly avoiding hitting the van anyway and ran head on into an old oak tree.  
  
The Porsche's driver wiped the blood caused by flying glass away from his eyes and unfastened his seatbelt. Then he opened his glove box and removed a small pistol. His nerves were so frazzled after all that had happened so quick that he was unable to hold on to the firearm, which fell onto the passenger's side floor. The driver leaned over in an attempt to retrieve it.  
  
However, before this happened he heard a deep voice say, "H.B. Devenolla?"  
  
H.B. turned his head to face the voice while his hand continued looking for the fallen weapon and answered though where the driver's side window use to be, "Yeah. That's me, but you have me at a disadvantage since I don't know your name."  
  
The stranger who was dressed entirely in black and had an Uzi trained right on H.B.'s head replied, "I have you at a greater disadvantage then that. You might as well give up finding your gun, mine is trained on you and you'd be dead before you could consider bringing yours to bear on me."  
  
With this, H.B. brought both of his hands to rest on the steering wheel and asked, "What is it you want then?"  
  
The stranger answered, "I just wanted to say good night."  
  
Seconds later H.B.'s head looked like it was waiting to be grilled up and served on a bun with mayo onions and pickles. The stranger tossed something into the wreckage of a once very nice car and the marksman's medal came to rest on the mangled remains of H.B. Devenolla's head.  
  
With this the stranger casually walked back to his van and drove off. The Executioner had come to Los Angeles.  
  
**  
  
After his brief meeting with H.B. Devenolla, Marcus Bolan returned to his hotel room where he had a message at the front desk to call the old man. He knew that meant Hal Brognola and quickly returned his call.  
  
"Junior," The relieved voice said, "I was afraid you wouldn't return my call tonight." Hal opened with.  
  
"Firecracker, what's wrong?"  
  
"I've just learned that the government knows who you are." Was the answer.  
  
There was a second of stunned silence and then Marcus inquired, "How?"  
  
"Well, you weren't to careful with your finger prints in Chicago and Dallas. Plus, it didn't take long after your desertion for the government to figure out who you were. The way the demolishing of the mafia went down in those cities, a very well trained individual or a team of very well trained individuals could only have carried it out. Now let's think about it, a recently deserted Navy SEAL whose family tree has a history of not playing very well with the mob and who has an ax to grind with them. Either way, they know who you are."  
  
Marcus laid back on the bed and pinched the bridge of his nose in concentration, exhaled heavily and asked, "How long do I have until this is officially released?"  
  
The answer was, "Well, it is being kept very hush hush right now and the only people who are suppose to know are those in the FBI, the Congress and the White House with an official need to know. But as you know, leaks happen. I already know that a few minor leaks have happened because I found out from my sources within the FBI. Now, if I'm able to find out from my sources in the FBI, then the media will be able to find out from theirs. Or a Congressman who thinks that busting you wide open might be the key to reelection could very well have sources in the FBI Or as far as we know, the Commission very well could have their own sources in the FBI, Congress or even the White House. So to answer your question you may have no time left at all before they know who you are."  
  
Bolan sighed and said, "Well firecracker. Your just a bucket of good news tonight aren't you."  
  
"I'm sorry that the news couldn't be happier, but I thought you'd want to know right away." Hal said with a hint of remorse in his voice.  
  
"No, no you did the right thing Firecracker and I appreciate it. Thanks. I'll be in touch." Marcus said and then hung up the phone.  
  
After ending the conversation, Bolan laid back on the bed and thought about the newest development of his one-man war on the mafia.  
  
**  
  
The mood that evening at the Devenolla Estate wasn't any better. The news of H.B.'s demise had reached them.  
  
Tony Devenolla, a very rotund man with closer to triple chins instead of double chins was obviously fighting back crying in front of his men.  
  
"It's Bolan. He tore of Chicago, he tore up Dallas, now he is here to tear us up." One of the Devenolla lieutenants said.  
  
"But what we have to know is if it is really Bolan. Did H.B. and the other's miss and Bolan get Bolan hunting again? Is it a copycat like some say, an obsessed fan, who is after us for whacking his hero? Is it a brother, son, cousin, nephew like some say? Or even, is it the ghost of Bolan, come back from beyond the grave to exact revenge for his untimely departure from the world?" Another Devenolla crew chief brainstormed.  
  
"Whichever way it is, we have to increase our defenses. Whoever it is, is here for Don Devenolla. I won't let him get him like he got Don Caparone and Don Damino. I'm going to boost defenses of the house; we will begin traveling in a motorcade like the freaking president." Devenolla's chief bodyguard said.  
  
"Enough of this Bolan talk. There is no Bolan. Bolan died. It is not a copycat, it is not a family member, and since there is clearly no such things as ghost, goblins, and ghouls there is no Ghost of Bolan hunting our organization." Tony Devenolla cut in with much grief and anger evident in face and voice.  
  
"Boss, with your life on the line we can't just go on living happy go lucky. Someone took out H.B. like they took out the other hammers on the Bolan hit. In Dallas and Chicago they weren't happy with just taking out the hammers, they took the Dons to. You're in danger. We can't ignore this." The chief bodyguard retorted.  
  
Tony Devenolla stood up, tipped over the table the others were sitting at in a rage of fury and said, "You think I've lived this long in the life being stupid. You keep talking this Bolan nonsense and you won't see the say that young soldiers are referring to you as one of the old men. You won't rise in the family because we will have lowered you into the ground long before you get the chance to rise."  
  
"Boss, who do you think it is then?" A different crew chief asked.  
  
"Easy. Lets think about this. Lets see if this makes more since then the return of Mack Bolan." Tony Devenolla said in a mocking and patronizing tone of voice, " We have visitors in town don't we. The weakest family on the commission is here, who it just also happens that we have bad blood with going back beyond my father. They say their here as a "peace delegation", working with a "peace delegation" of our own to work out a truce to the cold war that has existed since the 1950s between the two families. Really it is a cover for taking us out and giving themselves a better seat at the table."  
  
Silence filled the room for a second and then Tony continued, "The Gravani hit Chicago, the Gravani hit Dallas. They hit those places to start this talk of Bolan that you all seem to enjoy spouting. They were preparing for their visit here. So that they could rub us out. After we are gone, this Bolan will mysteriously disappear. They might even sacrifice a few of their own just to make it look good. When the dust settles, with the Caparone gone, the Damino gone, and the Devenolla gone, the Gravani will reap more profit then they ever did from any illicit business they are in."  
  
Another moment of silence filled the room and Tony once again broke it by saying, "Take them out. I don't want one Gravani left at the end. Not here. Not Detroit. The only place I want anyone associated with the name Gravani is on a morgue's slab.  
  
**  
  
At 6 PM the next evening the war started.  
  
Bill Gravani, the 20 year old and youngest son of Tony Gravani and the second in charge of the peace delegation from Detroit, had just finished enjoying a Mexican dinner at an LA restraunt with three of the Gravani soldiers that had come as part of the peace delegation.  
  
Their driver hadn't shown up yet to pick them up so the four of them stood outside the restaurant smoking either a cigarette or cigar, joked and made idle chit chat. Then a brown Cadillac pulled up, this in itself wasn't unusual since it was a busy restaurant. However what happened next was. Seven men dressed in black from head to toe including the ski masks that covered their faces and the gloves on their hands, stepped out with full automatic AK-47 assault rifles pointed at the four Gravani men. The seven shadows open fired, cutting the Gravani down in a matter of seconds. They then jumped back into their Cadillac and sped off.  
  
**  
  
Word of the hit arrived to the hotel that Marcus Bolan was staying at. Only word didn't arrive to Marcus Bolan, but to Shawn Emoea, the underboss of the Gravani family and head of the peace delegation. Unknown to Marcus and Shawn, they were staying just a floor apart from each other.  
  
"Boss, I've got some bad news." Emoea said into the phone as soon as it was picked up on the other end.  
  
"Then spit it out. I've got a lot going on over here and I don't need wasted breath on a long distance call." Was Tony's reply.  
  
"Well," Emoea began with obvious hesitation in his voice, "We've had a few ummmm developments of our own. Some of our boys got hit tonight. Bill was one of them."  
  
Tony saying in a weak voice, "My Bill?" followed a pause on the line.  
  
Shawn sighed and answered, "Yes boss."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"We don't know for sure yet. This is LA so it could have been a drive by. But from what I've been told by people who saw it, I doubt that's the case."  
  
"Why do you say that?"  
  
"Well. There were several guys in the car. If it had been a gangbanger drive by they would have fired from the car, these guys got out. Gangbangers always whoop and yell during a drive by. These guys were coldly silent and never said a word. I've never heard of a banger concealing who they are. These guys wore ski masks and gloves. Gangbangers never worry about dressing for the occasion. These guys were dressed all in black."  
  
"So, what is it your telling me Shawn?" Tony asked in regards to what he had just been told.  
  
"Well boss. I believe it was an organized hit."  
  
"The Devenolla?" Tony asked.  
  
"Yes boss. I think so."  
  
There was another moment of silence that Tony broke by asking, "So your telling me that the Devenolla invited us to L.A. just to whack those who came? To start a war?"  
  
Shawn sighed and answered, "Yes boss. That is what I believe."  
  
Gravani replied, "Well, there has been bad blood for a long time. For a long time the rest of The Commission has been afraid that Tony verses Tony would happen and now it is. I don't want you coming back here until every Devenolla is dead. Men Devenollas, old Devenollas, women Devenollas, baby Devenollas, dog Devenollas, cat Devenollas, and even goldfish Devenollas. Anyone or anything that is tied to the Devenolla dies. I want all their properties burned to the ground. I even want a good share of their employees dead. I want everyone to know that you don't hit the Gravani, especially when we are trying to make peace. Am I understood?  
  
Emoea answered, "Yes sir. But I don't have enough men here for that."  
  
Gravani answered, "You will. There is a small private airport 20 miles east of L.A. A friend of ours owns that. Be there at 6 P.M. in two days." and then broke the connection.  
  
**  
  
The next night, same hotel, only in Bolan's room, Marcus had the latest intelligence provided to him by Hal Brognola spread all over his bed, listening to the news and enjoying a meal from Burger King.  
  
The newscaster was saying, "From all apparent happenings, we have a mob war occurring right here in Los Angeles. We at WCTX have confirmed that there are elements of two organized crime families here, our own Devenolla Family and the Gravani Family from Detroit Michigan. An unnamed source within the Devenolla family has told us here at WCTX that the Gravani were here for some sort of peace summit that was to end the long history of bad blood between these two families. However from the bodies the litter Los Angeles tonight, it appears that this bad blood has turned into open war...."  
  
Bolan chuckled at this and thought, "You have to love it when they distrust each other so much that they start rubbing each other out over the actions of an outsider."  
  
As Bolan thought this, the phone rang. He answered it to hear, " Junior this is Firecracker. Are you secure for conversation?"  
  
"Affirmative Firecracker. What's up?" Bolan replied.  
  
"It sounds like you've stirred up the hornet's nest there haven't you." Brognola started the conversation.  
  
"Yeah, but the thing is. I'm not sure how." Marcus said chuckling.  
  
"Well, we can say one thing with certainty. The mob hasn't received any leaks about who you are yet. Just lay low over there. Keep your head down and let the bad guys do your work for you."  
  
"Oh I will. I'm just going to stay here and keep the hornets nest buzzing and then to mop up after they are done playing their games with each other."  
  
"Ok. Just keep your head low. Firecracker out."  
  
"Junior out."  
  
**  
  
The next day at 6 PM a medium size private jet flew into a private airport on the outskirts of L.A. The jet taxied to a stop.  
  
While this was going on, Marcus Bolan cut the wire fence that ran the entire boarder of the airport and granted himself entrance. He crawled to where the cars were parked first. He found two vehicles that still had Mafioso inside, and then quickly and silently added C-4 plastic explosive to the exterior décor of these cars. He checked his remote, placed it back into his shoulder bag that was strapped to his shoulder and around his waist.  
  
He then crawled from the cars to the sniper's nest that he has chosen on a brief examination of the grounds before he broke in, in a stretch of unmowed grass that had grown to a nice height. Once in position, he removed the sniper from his shoulder and sat it in position for quick use. He then removed the remote for the C-4 from his bag and watched as the events on the landing strip unfolded.  
  
He saw the jet's door open and the ladder rolled into place. He then counted twenty-five Gravani hard men deplane. As these men stood there chatting, the jet refueled and took back off.  
  
Marcus then pushed the first button on the remote quickly followed by the second button sending both cars into bright blaze. All thirty men on the landing strip drew their guns and turned to face the cars, which exposed their backs to Bolan's sniper rifle.  
  
Bolan pulled his trigger five times and five of the newly arrived Gravani hard men fell before I knew what was happening. However, it didn't take long for the Gravani to turn around and open fire in the general direction that they had received fire from.  
  
Bolan crawled away from their fire, back to the hole in the fence and his van awaiting him not far down the road, which he casually drove off in.  
  
After he realized that they were no longer being shot at Emoea called a ceasefire and organized a search for the body of their assailant. All they found was a little medal military marksmen medal.  
  
Emoea rubbed the medal between his fingers and said, "So it was the Devenolla in Dallas and Chicago. I have to let Tony know of this to."  
  
**  
  
As the days went by, the fighting between the Gravani and the Devenolla continued. Both sides loosing men. The Gravani had sent even more men from Detroit to assist in the war in L.A.  
  
During this time, Marcus Bolan sat back content to watch the events he had accidentally set off. He only occasionally added his own touch to keep the confusion confusing.  
  
A car loaded with Devenolla sat outside the First American National Bank waiting for the Gravani who had entered to come out.  
  
"That's the nice thing about these big banks. You can get your money at home, you can get your money while your away, and your target becomes so much more predictable." One of the Devenolla said.  
  
As this was said, Marcus walked by the car. Dressed in everyday cloths, the Devenolla didn't think anything about him until he tossed a hand grenade through an open window and ran to an alley just a few feet from where the car sat and rounded the corner.  
  
Another explosion rocked L.A. Marcus glimpsed around the corner and noted to his grim satisfaction that none of the Devenolla had time to make it out of the car before it went off.  
  
To insure that he didn't draw attention to himself by moving away from the shattered remains of the car, he joined the mass of curious onlookers who were gathering and discreetly dropped a marksmen medal on the ground near he hollowed out shell of a car for the police, the Gravani, or the Devenolla to find.  
  
Yes, this has been the easiest campaign of Bolan's war yet, possibly the easiest of his and his father's war. All he needed to do was to provide a few nudges now and then to keep it going.  
  
**  
  
Later that night the Devenolla house was in an uproar of argument.  
  
"Boss, this is a very bad idea. With this whole Gravani thing going on you should stay in the house. We control this environment. You go outside, and we can no longer completely control everything that happens. It's not like you have to stay inside forever, it's just until this Gravani affair is all said and done." His chief bodyguard said.  
  
"This is the Charkovski exhibit. The youngest artist ever. He was rubbed out by the Russian government at age nine during the rule of Lenin." Tony said.  
  
"Yes, I know boss. But, is seeing the paintings of some dead brat right now worth your life? Your love of art is no secret and if you know of this show, I'd put money on it that the Gravani do to. Why don't you just catch it the next time it comes to town?" The bodyguard replied.  
  
"The next time it comes to town?" Tony Devenolla said his voice full of sarcasm and his annoyance becoming evident in his voice, "There might not be a next time. This is the first time ever that it has come to the United States. First time EVER, and I won't miss it."  
  
"Boss. Under ordinary circumstances this would be no problem. But with the Gravani gunning for all of us, your going to this show would make it to hard to protect you. There will be too many faces we don't know as friend, foe, or nobody. You don't see don Gravani exposing himself by showing up around here do you? No, he is sitting all cozy in Detroit all safe and snug as a bug in a rug sir." The Bodyguard argued on.  
  
Raising his voice, Devenolla ended the discussion by saying, "Look. I'm the boss your not. I say where we go and when we go. You don't. Your job is to protect me. So I'd suggest you figure out how to do your job at this exhibit. If you don't feel up to the task, I'll save the Gravani the trouble of rubbing you out and find someone to replace you who can do the job. Am I understood? I will never get the chance to see this pieces again and you know it. I don't care if you have to bring every man in the family. We are going.  
  
**  
  
At the same time this discussion was occurring, Shawn Emoea and the twelve capos of his hit crews were mobbed up in their hotel planning hits against the Devenolla and trying to figure out how they were going to get to the old man himself.  
  
None of them were paying attention to the TV, which was on mostly for sound when the following advertisement caught Shawn Emoea's attention, "For one night only the works of the world's youngest art prodigy Yuri Charkovski will make it's American debut right here in Los Angeles. Los Angeles was chosen for this honored event because of the sophisticated taste in art its residents have. This is your once in a lifetime opportunity to see the work that so scared a Russian leader that he had this young artist and his entire family executed when he was only nine years old. After this show, you'll have to travel to other countries to see these masterpieces for the next fifty years, because that's how long these pieces are booked for outside the United States. So don't miss this chance, you, your children, your grandchildren and possibly your great grandchildren will not have another opportunity."  
  
Shawn looked at the others and said, "Old man Devenolla is an art nut right?"  
  
"Yeah. So?" Was the answer and question posed by one of the Gravani hammers.  
  
" So, we can take the rest of the night off. All we have to do is have all of our boys art this Russian kid's thing and we win." Is how Emoea answered.  
  
The twelve men in the room chuckled and Emoea returned their humor with a disgusted look.  
  
"What boss? You really don't think the old man is stupid enough to his face at this art thing with a war going on in his backyard now do you?" One of the capos asked.  
  
Emoea took a slow drag off of his cigar, and calmly looked at each of the crew bosses as inwardly he worked to calm his irritation. "It's easy. Old man Devenolla is a fool. He feels like an iron man here in L.A. He will go to this and he will have a good many of his men there. What he doesn't know is that most of the Gravani are here to."  
  
"Boss, you really don't think.." One of the capos started.  
  
Emoea cut the capo off, "Yes I do. And we will be there. All of us, in force. This war will end there that night. After that night, the Devenolla will be as extinct as the dinosaurs."  
  
**  
  
For about the first half hour, everything at the art exhibit was, as you would imagine such an event. Quite mummer of conversation, everyone wearing suits and dresses, admiration of the young talent that was cut short.  
  
Marcus enjoyed moving among the people, civilian, and Mafioso alike while he could without his face being recognized. It was a luxury that he knew he wouldn't have for much longer; this game of his was about to get real rough. This would probably be his last campaign of enjoying being completely unknown among those he hunts.  
  
Then the first shots rang out. They came from outside the auditorium that had been rented to host the exhibit. In a matter of seconds it became obvious inside the auditorium who was civilian and who was combatant. The civilians were cowering anywhere and everywhere they could to hide from the bullets that could have been coming from and going to anywhere.  
  
It was also for the most part noticeable on who was Gravani and who was Devenolla. A large portion of the Devenolla was huddled with their backs turned towards him around Tony providing him the best protective bubble they could. The rest provided a firing line, which broke as soon as the Gravani inside the building open fired. Shortly after the firing line broke, so did the protective bubble and it was everyone for himself.  
  
Within minutes bodies from both families and the civilians that didn't move fast enough littered the auditorium floor. Holes were punched through priceless treasures that had been painstakingly preserved for decades.  
  
Upon seeing that his side was not going to win this battle, although credit was due to his men considering that only a handful of Gravani remained standing, the fearless leader of the Devenolla family beat a hasty retreat to the rear of the auditorium to the emergency exit for he couldn't think of much more of an emergency then having a lot of armed men hunting you.  
  
Once he was outside Tony noticed the fifteen corpses in the back of the building. Fighting the urge the contents of his stomach had to evacuate his body he quickly moved around the side of the building to where he noticed more bodies.  
  
"They actually fought to the last man out here, like they are doing inside right now." Tony thought as he moved around to the front of the building.  
  
In the front of the building he discovered the true reason no one was left living outside. In front of him stood a man in his late twenties, dressed entirely in black putting a bullet into the head of the last living wounded Gravani. He had the pistol in his hand, two more in holsters one on each hip, a third pistol in a shoulder holster, a bandolier of grenades strapped to his chest and an M-16 slung to his shoulder.  
  
" Don Devenolla. I can't thank you enough for holding the Gravani accountable for me killing your boy. This little war of yours has saved me so much trouble here in L.A."  
  
"You? Huh? Who are you?" Tony Devenolla asked, his puzzlement plain in his voice.  
  
"That's easy my dear soon to be dead man. I'm Marcus Bolan. The son of Mack Bolan and Toby Bolan who you are guilty of ordering murdered in cold blood."  
  
A look of pure shock registered on Devenolla's face as he asked, "But what are you doing here?"  
  
"That's easy. I'm making sure that no one leaves this little party alive. I simply waited for your boys and the boys Gravani sent all this way to duel it out, and then picked off those that remained alive. I'm on my way inside to make sure that all the police have to deal with when they get here are bodies. To be honest, I'm surprised to find you outside." Marcus said and then added with a note of sarcasm in his voice, "What an example you are to your men."  
  
Devenolla went for the pistol he had concealed under his jacket, but Bolan got the drop on him. It all seemed in slow motion for both men. Devenolla reached into his jacket and in response Bolan raised the Glock that was in his hand at his side. Marcus took a brief but careful aim on Devenolla and pulled the trigger. The bullet went in as a small hole but came out by removing the back of Tony's head leaving his face as a mostly empty shell before his body made it's slow decent to the ground.  
  
He then dropped one of his signature marksmen medals on Tony's chest and went inside the auditorium to finish his work quickly before the police arrived.  
  
**  
  
In Detroit, Tony Gravani laid in his bed relaxing watching the late night news when the newscaster made this announcement, "Murderer or hero? That is the question on many minds tonight. From official sources within the U.S. Justice Department, we now know who has been raising terror among the ranks of the Mafia underworld. Since the mysterious murders started rumor after rumor circulated among official and unofficial circles but an anonymous source has broke the news that the murder's name is Marcus Bolan. The true to life son of Mack Bolan that no one knew about, and that he didn't know about until after mafia hit men gunned down his parents. Bolan is a Navy S.E.A.L wanted by the Navy for desertion, and now wanted by the many civilian agencies as well for multiple murders. The number of murders he has committed is unknown right now because apparently he struck again in the middle of a mob war in Los Angeles. Here is a photo of Marcus Bolan that was provided along with the leak from the Justice Department. If you see this man, a cautious warning from our station do not approach him and please do not try to apprehend him. He has proven himself to be very dangerous. If you do see this man, please contact your local police dept or the FBI."  
  
Tony Gravani's face drained of blood and became white enough that you would mistake him for a vampire. In a murderous rage he jumped up and knocked the TV off its stand shattering all over his floor.  
  
He returned to his bed and sat on its foot resting his elbows on his knees and his head in the palms of his hands as he though, "Why? Why couldn't it have been the Devenolla making a power play? I've just seriously depleted my manpower to solve this problem and I am nowhere. NOWHERE!!!!!!! And to make things worse, I know I'm on his list. So I have a madman after me and less protection then I've ever had in my life." 


	5. What You Don't Know Can Kill You

CHAPTER 5: WHAT YOU DON'T KNOW CAN KILL YOU  
  
Immediately after seeing the expose of Marcus Bolan, Tony Gravani called a video teleconference with the other surviving members of The Commission. The impact of Bolan's rampage was felt right away. Present were Tony Gravani, George Milazzo of Seattle and Louis Vitale of the Bronx. Missing and thanks to Bolan's efforts never to be present again were Felix Caparone, Sal Damino and partially the fault of Tony Gravani was Tony Devenolla.  
  
"Gravani, you know I hate these video things. You know I think the government listens into each and every conversation we have on these, so we can't talk freely. If we do, it is a long visit to our respective state's prisons or a nice federal pen. I also really hate being pulled out of a nice cozy warm bed." Vitale started the conversation.  
  
"I don't think we have the luxury of worrying about this." Gravani retorted. "Have any of you heard the breaking news?"  
  
A sleepy murmur of no's came from Milazzo and Vitale confirming Gravani's suspicion that he had indeed pulled them out of bed, but this was an important matter and couldn't wait until official channels to arrange a face to face parlay count be established.  
  
"Well, first thing is first. We need to establish the order of our new commission. We find ourselves in a dire situation right now where each of us is hunted men." Gravani began taking charge of the new The Commission. "I say until this emergency is past, each of us has equal vote. Two to one wins. Agreed everyone?  
  
A sleepy and agitated agreement came from the other two surviving Commission members.  
  
"Now that this is done, we can move onto our more pressing business. This Marcus Bolan guy." Gravani began.  
  
"Who?" Milazzo interrupted snapping to a condition of more awareness.  
  
"That is why I called this meeting right after I found out. Vitale's informant left out some important deals to us. The main one being that Mack Bolan had a son in the Navy SEALs. Had we known this, we would have been there to take him out as soon as he showed up for the funeral of his parents."  
  
"So there really is a Bolan out there hunting us again?" Milazzo asked.  
  
"Yes, and a very ticked off one as well. He knows what he is doing, he is elite, and has had a great deal more training then most of the boys we have to throw at him. If left to his devices, we will all be opening the first meeting of The Commission in the sky."  
  
"So you got our permission and took out Devenolla for no cause. He wasn't making a power play on the rest of us?" Vitale said.  
  
"Well, at the time I thought that yes. But as it turned out I judged Devenolla wrong. This Bolan guy got him before we did." Gravani defended himself.  
  
Milazzo chimed in, "Lets stay on point here. We can get around to blaming for Devenolla's demise later if we choose to. What do we know about this new Bolan?"  
  
"Not much. Just that he is a SEAL, which means he is dangerous. He is the son of Bolan, which means he isn't happy. He is after us which means we need to do something and do it fast to eliminate him."  
  
"Form another hit team of our boys. Our veterans of the original Bolan hit plus a few more each to make up for the losses taken by the other families. Or we could demand men from the non-Commission families since baby Bolan poses a threat to them as well as us." Vitale suggested.  
  
"What do you mean by that?" Milazzo asked.  
  
"Its easy. Us three plus Caparone, Devenolla, and Damino gave the order for Bolan's hit. So his boy is after us first. But his old man didn't stop after he avenged the death of his family now did he. No, he took out families that had nothing to do with their deaths. Now, what makes you think Bolan 2 won't do the same. Everyone in our organization is under threat from him." Vitale answered.  
  
"Well, you're on the right track Vitale, but like I said. I really don't think the three of us combined or any of the other families have anyone who can hold a torch to Bolan." Gravani began.  
  
"Save us the speeches Gravani and tell us what you think we should do." Milazzo interrupted.  
  
"I say we send the hunters to deal with Baby Bolan. They are military, so is he. So they know how he thinks, how he acts, and how he works. None of our boys do." Gravani finished.  
  
There was a moment of silence as Vitale and Milazzo pondered Gravani's idea.  
  
Gravani broke the silence by saying, "Lets vote on it."  
  
When the vote was completed, the final outcome was three to zero in favor of bringing in the hunters.  
  
"Well," Gravani said. "See, we are off to a good start already. Our first vote. Sorry to bother you gentlemen this late. Sleep tight and sweet dreams. I'll contact the hunters."  
  
**  
  
Blissfully unaware that a hired hit team had just been placed on him, Bolan drove the dark stretch of highway. For the first time since his war began, Bolan's mind was not on the mafia, the best way to take them out, or what order he would hit them in. His mind was on how much he was looking forward to seeing Alexis again and how much he misses her when he is engaged in a new campaign. His inner emotions warred over his feelings for her and his desire to actually enter a normal relationship and not the protector and protectee. Tempering his romantic feelings towards her was his knowledge that he lived a dangerous life and odds are wouldn't live much longer anyway. He knew deep down that a relationship could prove disastrous for him and her. Although he didn't know at this point which side of the argument would win.  
  
However, blissful unawareness creates a dangerous situation when you allow your mind to drift away from things that it should be attentive to, such as vehicles that look suspicious or that have been following you. A prime example of this was the two pitch black Hummers that pulled up one on each side of Bolan's van. The Hunters move quick when The Commission is paying the tab.  
  
On some stretch of highway between Los Angeles, California and Portage Michigan the harsh sound of automatic gunfire and the shattered glass landing all around him brought Marcus back to reality from his mental utopia that he was in.  
  
Reacting purely out of instinct he pressed his breaks all the way to the floorboard. The two Hummers drove past Bolan's van, however the Volvo behind him narrowly avoided rear-ending him by changing lanes and getting rear-ended itself by another car.  
  
Marcus moved his foot over to the gas pedal and pulled the 357 Magnum out of the console armrest next to him. He put his left arm out where is driver's side window use to be and began sending rounds flying into the hummer that fired on the driver's side of his vehicle.  
  
The cars not involved in this fight all quickly pulled as far off the highway as they could; others crossed the grassy median and began going the other direction to avoid the gunfire and collisions. The Hummers however pulled U-turns and began coming back at Bolan's van. Bullets from the Hummers entered Bolan's van and he traded bullets of his own.  
  
The vehicles sped towards each other and the Hummer on Bolan's driver's side swerved to hit the van on the front driver's side corner. At the last possible second, Marcus once again slammed on his breaks and the Hummer passed in front of the van barely missing him. The hummer flew down the slope on the side of the highway flipping over four times on its way down.  
  
The second hummer paused as if it was considering the unfortunate luck of its counterpart. Capitalizing on this momentary cease in attack, Bolan went on the offensive pulling his van to the side of the highway and parking it. He then ran to the back of his vehicle on the inside and prepared a M-60 for action. He then exited the rear of the van and opened fired on the remaining hummer. It only took a matter of seconds for the hummer's occupants to evacuate the vehicle, which burst into flames just a matter of seconds later.  
  
With the immediate threat to him being gone, Bolan put his foot on the gas pedal and put miles between himself and his unknown attackers as fast as he could. He noticed a car stop and pick up the occupants of both hummers, however it showed no sign of following him so he paid it little attention.  
  
**  
  
Twenty-five miles from his most recent battleground, Marcus's van putted to a loud and smoky stop. Try as he might, Bolan quickly understood that the van was too badly damaged to ever move again unless it was assisted by a tow truck.  
  
He moved to the rear of his recently deceased vehicle and packed up as much of his arsenal as he could in the various and many bags that he had with him for just such an occasion.  
  
Bolan slung the various bags over his shoulders, attached a few to his back, carried one in each hand and started walking down the highway abandoning the van and the rest of the weaponry he was unable to carry to whatever fate that law enforcement had for it.  
  
**  
  
Less then a mile from where he started walking, a car off the highway. Marcus rested his hand on the small pistol he had in a concealed hip holster under his jeans for the reassuring feeling of knowing it was there in case this turned encounter turned as ugly as his last one had.  
  
He approached the car on the driver's side. Before he had a chance to say anything it's owner said, "Need a ride somewhere bud?"  
  
Marcus quickly ran a visual examination of the car and all around them. Once he was positive that there was no one else with the stranger and no chase vehicles around he answered, "Sure. You don't happen to know where the nearest bus station or train depot is do you?"  
  
"Sure don't. But we will stop off at the truck stop about ten miles from here and we will find out." The man said and Bolan climbed in.  
  
As they drove, Marcus's driver showed no sign of recognizing him. There was a lot of conversation, but it was all general superficial stuff. Nothing that hinted that the stranger knew him and he didn't make any attempt to pry into Bolan's personal life anymore then most people who are just making conversation would. They visited the truck stop where Marcus bought the stranger dinner to thank him for his kindness. They located a bus stop and the kind stranger drove Marcus there and saw him off.  
  
**  
  
After stepping off the bus, the very first thing Bolan did was pick up a Kalamazoo Gazette. He had been gone from his hometown a long time and wanted to know what was new in the area he grew up in. While he knew that he couldn't contact anyone that knew him other then Alexis, it is still nice to come home.  
  
The front page took his breath away. The Headline staring straight at him was, "Bolan Rampage Extends Beyond The Mafia." He threw himself into the article forgetting about everything else entirely. As he read he learned that the kind stranger who had dropped him off at the bus station had been found dead the same night. Local law enforcement believed they saw Marcus step out of the stranger's car on surveillance tapes. Local law enforcement then called the FBI who confirmed it. At this point they still hadn't been able to confirm the name he used or his destination, but it article did say that all airports, seaports, bus stations, train terminals and every other way to get in or out of the country has been advised to keep an eye out for him.  
  
Discreetly, Marcus made his way out of the bus station and hailed a taxi. From there he went directly to the house he rented. Once at the house he blew past Alexis entirely ignoring her and went to the "Strategy Room" which was originally meant to be a small bedroom, but he used it as a study/archive for the mass of information he had been able to accumulate thus far in this career as the Mafioso Grim Reaper. This small room contained; confidential FBI briefings which had been secretly appropriated by Hal Brognola, transcripts of classified interviews of made men and connected men who the government plans on turning state's evidence against their families, published books on the current status of the mafia, a computer with internet access, ect. Marcus began rapidly searched through indexes, tables of contents, briefing notes and the like searching desperately for a clue as to who might have attacked him.  
  
Alexis peeked sheepishly into the room, unsure of his behavior. Every other time he had returned to Portage in between his sorties, he had been a little distant but friendly and sociable unlike his behavior today. "What's wrong?" She asked.  
  
In frustration Marcus cleared the antique writing desk that had belonged to his grandparents on his mother's side with a sweep of his hand saying as if he didn't hear her, "I can't find anything."  
  
Probing for the cause of this abnormal behavior Alexis responded, "All is not quite on the Western Front?"  
  
Marcus ran his hand over the weeks worth of stubble that had grown on his face as he spun in his chair to face her. "Huh?" He asked.  
  
Alexis chuckled and asked, "You didn't know I was here?"  
  
"Well, I knew you were there, but I was off in my own little world and nothing registered."  
  
"Ah, well, I just asked what was wrong?"  
  
"Nothing really." Was all he said.  
  
"Nothing really? You usually don't plow right past me like a tornado is pushing you and storm into this room right after you come back. Usually you take at least twenty-four hours before you begin planning anything or even go near this room. And you always treat the stuff in this room like it is the most valuable and fragile item in a museum. Pushing it all off your desk is not normal. Bad day at the office?"  
  
Marcus told her of the past few days' events starting with the unexpected exchange of shots on the freeway. After telling her everything and hearing the expected, "You need to be careful," speech he stepped outside in the fresh brisk October air and smoked the day's last cigarette, went to his room, took a sleeping pill and laid down. Thoughts continued to roll around in his mind giving the sleeping pill about as much effect as the punch of a five year old would have on the world heavyweight boxing champion.  
  
**  
  
A for the most part sleepless night passed. Marcus arose with the same thoughts wondering his mind that have been there since the freeway fracas came to its end. He knew that these well-traveled thoughts wouldn't cease until he found answers on who made the surprise attack. Since his brief ransacking of his intelligence didn't turn up any answers he could only thing of one person who might be able to.  
  
Still only wearing his boxers he lit his morning cigarette and dialed the telephone and went through the familiar routine of getting past the field operative contact line's operator.  
  
"Junior? This is an unexpected call. You never call in this early." Hal said.  
"Well, that's because usually I don't get ambushed on my way out of enemy territory." Marcus responded.  
  
"Why don't we start with you telling me what happened."  
  
"Well, I was on my way back. Comfortable with all the enemy being dead or scattered. Out of nowhere, two Humvee loads of unknowns open fire and try to run me off the road. I won, but my van is toast. I start walking and this nice stranger picks me up and gives me a ride to the bus station that would have taken me hours to walk to. I get off the train here and discover that he has been killed and that I am being blamed for it. I don't like this?"  
  
"Yeah, well I can see why you would say that. I saw the news break on you killing that guy. What name did you use?"  
  
"Thad Meet." Marcus answered.  
  
"What destination did Thad have?"  
  
"Not here. I got off the bus early."  
  
"Good. I thought you'd have been too smart to stay on until Thad's final destination. What I'll do is discreetly lead them to your Thad alias. They will discover his time of departure, check the tapes and realize that you couldn't have killed the guy that gave you a ride."  
  
"Sounds good to me. Do you have any idea on who these guys are though? I'm getting use to being shot at, but I would like to at least know who is doing it." Marcus inquired.  
  
"Right now negative. I know as much as you do, maybe even a little less. I'll beat the tree though and find out what I can and then let you know."  
  
"Great Firecracker. And thanks. Junior out."  
  
"Firecracker out."  
  
With that, both men broke the connections on their ends.  
  
**  
  
With his nerves somewhat calmed for the moment, Marcus realized that he hadn't treated Alexis well last night and began pondering ways to make it up to her. After all, he did have feelings for her that seem to refuse to be denied.  
  
He glanced over at his alarm clock and saw that it was only 6 AM and thought, "Hmmm Alexis never wakes up until 8:30 at the earliest." With this thought he gathered the cloths he wanted to wear that day and walked to the bathroom to take his shower.  
  
After the shower he felt more human and made his way to the kitchen where he very un-expertly and after a few attempts prepared a breakfast of pancakes, eggs over easy, and sausage patties with a glass of apple juice. Once this was completed he went to her bedroom, opened the door and walked in.  
  
"Wakie Wakie eggs and bakie." He repeated the words his mother had woke him to so many times while he was growing up.  
  
Startled she jumped and her blankets fell off her. Marcus learned the rough way that Alexis sleeps in the nude. Both of them embarrassed, Marcus diverted his eyes to the ground and Alexis quickly covered herself up.  
  
"I I I'm sorry," Marcus stammered, "I ahhhhhh realized how much of a jerk I was last night and ummmm thought I'd make you breakfast in bed."  
  
With his eyes still diverted Marcus didn't realize that she had covered herself back up. He lowered the tray to the ground and said, "I'll um leave it right here and go." After saying this he thought to himself, "Man, I hope she doesn't see how red my face is right now."  
  
Alexis giggled and said, "It's ok. I'm covered now."  
  
"I'm sorry. I should have knocked first. I just wanted to surprise you." He apologized.  
  
She giggled again and said, "It's ok. You were very sweet making breakfast for me, and just so you know, there was no apology needed for your behavior last night. You live with stresses that I can only imagine from some of the Stallone and Schwarzenegger movies I've seen.  
  
"Well um, I'm gonna get going so that you can eat in peace."  
  
"You're kidding me right? You made enough for an army. I can't eat all of this. What your going to do is come over here and sit on the bed next to me and help me eat all of this."  
  
"But, you're all naked and stuff." He said and then was embarrassed with himself over the way it sounded.  
  
Alexis giggled again and said, "Oh it's ok Mr. Big Bad Mafia Killer. I think I can keep myself covered and eat at the same time."  
  
Realizing that he wasn't going to get out of this, he went over and sat down next to her. They shared the same silverware, Marcus doubting she would allow him to leave the room even if he suggested that he go and get his own.  
  
**  
  
After breakfast was finished, Marcus left the bedroom with the dirty dishes to wash them while Alexis climbed out of bed and prepared to face the day.  
  
Once both were refreshed and ready for the day ahead they decided that they did not want to stay in the house and opted for a day on the town. First, a movie, then they went window-shopping picking up a few things along the way, after this they played a few holes of miniature golf, and finally, unknown to Marcus, they found their way to the same park where the mafia had found his parents.  
  
Here, just like with is parents, trouble found Marcus "Smith" Bolan. Marcus was pushing Alexis on a swing when the first bullet rang out. The shot was good but just a little too short. He saw the sand erupt about three inches from his foot and years of training told him what was happening.  
  
He pulled Alexis off the swing by the back of her shirt. She landed on her back with a look of shock on her face. He pulled a modified Magnum 357 out of a boot holster and covered her with his body.  
  
Alexis gave him a seductive look and said, "Well now, this is forward isn't it."  
  
"Shhhhh. We have just been shot at." He said examining each inch of the wood line.  
  
"This is no good. We are too out in the open here. We have to get back to the car." He said after a second.  
  
He fired two shots to where he believed the one aimed at him had come from and then got himself and Alexis to their feet in one swift flow of movement.  
  
At that time several men dressed in black or military camouflage appeared like ghostly beings from the woods with all sorts of firearms.  
  
Marcus fired several shots randomly at the invaders and they intern either kept walking while firing or took up a crouching stance and fired.  
  
Marcus and Alexis fled. First they came to the public restroom that had been constructed for the park patrons' use. However they did not make it before a bullet found it's way into the back of Marcus's right shoulder and another grazing wound to his left oblique.  
  
They sought cover behind the restroom and Marcus returned fire, only this time with a more steady and purposeful aim. One of his bullets found an aggressor in the throat. The man crumpled to the ground, holding his throat with blood spurting out between his fingers. His mouth making motions like the dying man was trying to scream but not sound escaped.  
  
The unknown assault force continued their advance. Marcus eliminated another one from being an immediate threat by landing a bullet into the front of his knee. The man collapsed holding his knee and screaming all sort of profane things to Bolan, but he would live.  
  
Bullets from the strangers continued to pour in at Marcus and Alexis faster then Bolan could aim and take drop the bad guys. Chips to chunks of brick from the restroom wall assaulted the two just as badly as the bullets from the unknown men.  
  
"If we stay here we are just as dead as if we stayed out in the open." Marcus thought.  
  
He looked around and took stock of his surroundings, then he looked at Alexis and said, "We have to get moving. Stay ahead of me, don't look back and keep going no matter what."  
  
Alexis responded, "But your hurt. Why don't you give me the gun and you stay ahead of me since I'm not."  
  
"We don't have time for this. I'm trained; I've been wounded before but kept moving. You don't have any of those experiences so don't argue with me. If you get to the car and for some reason I'm not right there. Don't wait for me. Just run. Now GO!" He said pushing her forward and thus effectively ending the discussion.  
  
Bullets continued to tear the ground up around them, no more however found their mark on either Marcus or Alexis. They made their way to the car that Alexis had bought and made their escape leaving the aggressors in a lurch and without any dead prey.  
  
**  
  
The drive back to the house passed in an uncomfortable and stunned silence. For Marcus, the familiar brooding of the train ride back to Michigan along with the haunting confusion about who these guys were and for Alexis it was her first gun battle she had ever been caught in.  
  
Once at the house Marcus and Alexis said nothing to each other. She collapsed on the couch, almost comatose with shock. Marcus on the other hand had his battle senses in gear and immediately beat a hasty track to the phone.  
  
Once he was past the red tape of speaking with the CIA operative operators he was patched through to Hal. "Firecracker, it happened again."  
  
"What did?" Came the reply on the other end of the line.  
  
" I was out today and a group of guys tried to take my out. I can only assume that it is the same group that tried to take me out on the highway coming back."  
  
"I see." Hal replied.  
  
" Any luck finding out who they are?"  
  
A frustrated sigh came from the other end followed by, "Not yet. Trust me, as soon as I know something you'll know."  
  
"Thanks Firecracker. Is there anything else I should know about?"  
  
"Not right now Junior. You check in regularly enough, plus I know how to contact you. Don't worry, I won't leave you in the dark."  
  
"Thanks Firecracker. I'll talk to you later. Out." Marcus said and then hung up the cordless telephone.  
  
After he was off the phone Alexis came up to him with the battlefield first aid kit that Bolan had assembled, "I'm no corpsman but let me see what I can do with your shoulder and side."  
  
"Are you sure you have the stomach for it? The side isn't bad but the shoulder is kind of ugly."  
  
"Oh, I'm a big girl. I'm sure I can handle it."  
  
With that, Marcus removed his shirt, talked her though extracting the bullet the way he was trained to in a life or death emergency in the field and after that she carefully applied bandages to both the shoulder and side.  
  
"Marcus, I can't hold it in any longer. I have to say it even though you don't want me to."  
  
"What's that?" He inquired  
  
Her face turned red and in a low, almost no voice she said, "I love you"  
  
He looked deep into her eyes and said, "While I know I shouldn't. I know that it is dangerous for the both of us. I love you to."  
  
Alexis attempted to kiss him, but Marcus backed up.  
  
With a dejected look she asked, "What's the matter honey?"  
  
"Look. No offense but I fell in love with you against my will. Physical intimacy will only complicate matters when I don't need them to be complicated."  
  
"Oh come on. You can enjoy the pure animal comforts of life. Predators in the animal kingdom do it all the time and it doesn't affect them making their next kill."  
  
"Yeah, but with the lion, the gazelle isn't trying to kill him in return."  
  
"Ok, let me try it this way. You saw me naked, now it's my turn." She said with a seductive smile.  
  
Marcus chuckled in return and said, "I'm sorry but no."  
  
Alexis grabbed a hold of his belt loops and pulling him towards her said, "Look sir. I'm having my way with you with or without your approval."  
  
Marcus laughed at this and this time when she kissed him, he returned it. It wasn't long until they knew each other in the biblical sense.  
  
**  
  
Early the next morning while Marcus was still asleep the phone rang. Still not awake he answered it but quickly jerked awake when he heard the words, "Junior. It's Firecracker and I have news for you."  
  
"Well spit it out huh." Is how Bolan greeted his help from on high.  
  
"Ok, they are a team of hired guns known as The Hunters. None of them are made men, they are all purely contract killers and are called upon by The Commission when someone becomes particularly troublesome. Shoot from what I've been able to tell none of them are even of Italian decent. The team is made up mostly of former military special op commandos like yourself and hitmen that use to work for us in the CIA until they decided that contract work pays better. They are some real Billy Bad Boys."  
  
"Do you know how many of them there are?"  
  
" Twelve."  
  
"Ok, so that would mean that after yesterday there are ten left for me to deal with."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Yesterday when they tried to hit me, I closed out one for good and another took a shot in the knee cap so he is out of the game for awhile."  
  
"Good. But keep in mind that the ten who remain are no joke. They are every bit as professional as you are."  
  
"Yeah, I know. What else do you know about them?"  
  
"Only that their leader is a guy named Eric "Viking" Thurgood." Hal answered.  
  
"The Viking?"  
  
"That's because he looks like one. Beard, size, personality the whole nine yards. Imagine a Norseman in a dress suit or a hit outfit and you have Thurgood. That is all the hard information I have, but I do have surveillance photos of all of them. I'll email them to you. " Hal informed.  
  
"Ok thanks. You've been a big help again." Marcus said.  
  
"Just like the one who came before you, you're providing a valued service to your nation. I'll do all I can for you like I did for him." Hal said in a cryptic way not trusting his own secure connections.  
  
"Take care Firecracker."  
  
"With boys like these to deal with. You're the one who had better be taking care my friend."  
  
With that the connection went dead.  
  
**  
  
That night, dressed in full battle regalia and boasting a pretty impressive range of armament Bolan went hunting.  
  
He wasn't sure where to begin, but on an off chance he lucked into seeing a matching set of two pitch black Humvees in the hospital parking lot. Not only did these two match each other, but they also matched the two that had attacked him on the highway, minus the Bolan inflicted damage.  
  
Marcus pulled off to the side of the road and watched the group of five men who were all wearing suits standing outside the visitors' entrance. He compared them to the photos Hal and sent him and sure enough, it was his good buddies.  
  
He left the car and explored his surroundings. Bolan found a spot he liked between two cars.  
  
Marcus then returned to his car, retrieved his sniper rifle and returned to the perch he had picked out.  
  
With slow and steady aim from Bolan, one of The Hunters quickly found himself without the top of his head. The body flopped to the ground and the other four proved they were not amateurs by seeking cover and began seeking where the incoming fire was coming from.  
  
One made a quick mistake and attempted to move to a different section of brick wall by passing an area where there was a gap in the wall. That was all Marcus needed and the hitman did not make it to this destination, but instead just appeared to lie down and nap on the grass.  
  
That second shot gave his position away to the surviving three members of the hit team that was present. They brought their arms to bear on Bolan's location and open fired.  
  
Marcus rolled away from the incoming fire and scurried keeping himself low to the ground to his fallback observation position in a clump of trees near his car. Unknown to the bad guys, he had no intention of taking them all out here. All he wanted to do was get their attention right now and from the way the area he was just at was getting tore up it appears that he did.  
  
Upon hearing the gunfire, the other five hired killers came running out of the hospital with sidearms drawn. After a brief conversation the remaining eight hurried back into their vehicles and sped off, leaving the bodies of their comrades to whatever fate became of them.  
  
Marcus, maintaining his stealth quickly resumed his driver's seat and followed the Hummers at a discreet distance.  
  
**  
  
The pursuit ended at the hotel that The Hunters were staying in. Marcus watched them park and walk into the hotel's main entrance. He was no more then a shadow as he moved through the poorly lit parking lot to a side entrance.  
  
The next time he acquired sight of his adversaries was in a wide hallway. Bolan announced his presence by firing his silenced Glock 9 millimeter. Two of the paid killers fell silent for the rest of time.  
  
With nowhere else to go immediately the eight hitmen still in action broke open doors to three different rooms and took cover, returning fire from edge.  
  
Under heavy fire, Bolan ducked into a housekeeping storage room. With the deck stacked against him and the element of surprise long gone, Marcus rolled a flash bang grenade down the hallway and ducked back into the closet sized room so that the desired effect of the grenade didn't bother him to. The grenade went off with an amazing and almost deafening bang and a brief but brilliant flash of light in the hallway.  
  
When no more fire came from the contract killers, Marcus cautiously moved down the grenade-damaged hallway to the closest open door. He entered and saw that the flash bang had the desired effect. Two of the hitmen were on the floor in a state of all of their senses being off track and confused. With two whispers coming from his handgun both men became dearly departed loved ones of their friends and family.  
  
Knowing that only a matter of seconds remained before the disorientation of his opponents caused by the flash bang grenade wore off he dashed to the next room. The four hitmen and two parents and three children were at various stages of stumbling back to their feet and regaining their equilibriums.  
  
Marcus open fired and quickly dispatched three of the four contract killers. However, the last standing hitman charged Bolan, and before he could react Marcus found himself in his first hand-to-hand situation of his personal war.  
  
The killer for hire was a surprisingly good grappler and it wouldn't surprise Marcus to discover that he had been at least an all-state high school wrestler, but more likely some sort of special ops commando himself and was giving Bolan's Navy SEAL  
  
The murder caught Bolan in a side headlock and started bringing his fist into Bolan's face causing a stead red river to develop and pool on the ground.  
  
Marcus broke the headlock by sliding his arm between his attacker's arm and his neck. He then forced the attacker's arm away from him and brought himself nose to nose with his adversary.  
  
The paid killer pulled a knife from his shirtsleeve and stabbed it into Marcus's shoulder. At that point an unsilenced bullet entered the room and saved Bolan the remaining effort it would have taken to send his opponent to the great beyond.  
  
He allowed the body to fall to the ground, pulled the knife from the back of his shoulder and let it fly. It found it's mark in the gunman's right eye and he fell backwards into the hallway.  
  
Marcus turned to the family and said, "I'm sorry you and your children witnessed this. Don't worry, stay in this room and you will be in no danger. It will be obvious when I leave because of the silence."  
  
"Sorry boys. But I got better things to do today then die." Marcus said as he stepped over the gunman's body and into the hallway.  
  
The experience of finding unexpected civilians in the last room changed Bolan's game plan. Originally he had planned on just lobbing a standard hand grenade into the last room and calling it good, but now he couldn't risk killing an innocent.  
  
Marcus stood outside the room attempting to formulate a new game plan in his head when he heard Eric the Viking say, "Bolan. You out there Bolan?"  
  
"Yeah." Marcus answered.  
  
"What do you say we make a deal?"  
  
"What kind of deal?" Marcus answered the question with a question.  
  
" A live live deal which works out to be win win for the both of us huh."  
  
"What do you have in mind?" Marcus inquired.  
  
"It's easy. We go our own ways. Live and let live. You don't come gunning for me in this little war of yours and I won't come after you with a new crew."  
  
"And why should I believe this?"  
  
"Because you've taken out my entire team. Even the bounty on your head isn't worth this. You've cost me too much already. A bad investment on my part. I'm willing to cut my losses and run." The Viking answered.  
  
"Well, I don't deal with men I can't see. Come to the door, then I'll stand in the door and we can discuss this face to face." Bolan offered.  
  
"Now why should I trust you?"  
  
"Because you don't have much of a choice. I've taken ten of your twelve men. One more is injured bad enough that he is not likely to ever be able to rejoin you. Even if you can raise a new crew, The Commission isn't likely to ever hirer you again. You're finished. If you do as I say, you can be finished a live man. If you don't you're finished a dead man."  
  
A moment of silence ringed through the hotel as Eric considered what Marcus had just said.  
  
"Ok, ok Bolan. I'm coming to the door."  
  
Bolan peeked around the doorway and saw a man true to his name coming to the door. He guessed The Viking to be six feet two or three inches tall and weighing around 240 pounds. The man had a decent amount of body fat on him but it was evident just how much muscle mass this behemoth of a man coming had. The monster also had a well-kept beard that came down about midway past his chest.  
  
As always, true to his word Marcus rounded the corner and faced Eric face to face. Both men had side arms trained on each other.  
  
"Drop the piece." Marcus ordered.  
  
"Yeah right." Was the answer he received.  
  
" I don't discuss deals with a gun pointing at me. So drop it or I drop you."  
  
The Viking laughed fairly loudly at this. "Man, we are both professional killers. Although I think you have more kills to your name then I do now. You don't trust me to put down my gun because the old geezers hired me to kill you. I don't trust you because you have killed my entire team. We talk business just as we are."  
  
"So you say no?" Bolan asked with a chill in his voice that makes a blizzard on a winter morning seem nice.  
  
"Yeah. No." Eric said calmly but trying to keep up his tough man, stone cold killer persona.  
  
Nothing else was said. Bolan's nine millimeter whispered again and Eric fell against the wall and slid to the ground with a look of pure shock on his face. Once he hit the ground he just sat there, with is eyes wide open looking at nothing. The Viking had fallen.  
  
Knowing that the police would arrive way too soon, Marcus dropped a marksman medal and ran to the car awaiting his arrival and sped off.  
  
**  
  
It took Bolan's shoulder a week to feel strong enough to know what he had to do next. As soon as he felt he was able to, he and Alexis packed up everything in the house that had nothing to do with Bolan's war, in a U- Haul Marcus had rented under one of the names that Brognola had given him. Towed along behind it was Alexis's car.  
  
She drove the U-Haul and he drove the new van he bought under another assumed identity, which the dealership would never be paid for since Mike Plat doesn't exist and neither did the address he provided. The van was a mobile arsenal are Marcus was toying with the idea of leaving all or at least most of his armament in it. He could redesign the interior later, but at least the thoughts of it's future design allowed him to think of something besides how much he loved Alexis and how much he wished the two of them could live a normal life together.  
  
Portage, the city of Marcus's birth, where he was raised, and where his parents are buried is no longer safe. The police know he was there recently and may still believe him to be in the area. If The Hunters found him there, it is too likely for comfort that the mob knows he was there. If he stayed there any longer, he would die in he city he was born and he had no desire for that to happen.  
  
He had picked a city at random for them to move to. A randomly picked city that neither he nor Alexis had ties to would be safe. There are just too many cities for the mob to randomly find him in a randomly selected city. The chosen city was Bowling Green, Ohio. 


	6. The Bolan Effect

CHAPTER 6: THE BOLAN EFFECT  
  
Within weeks after moving to Bowling Green, Ohio Marcus is once again on the move. Not a change in residence, but another mafia boss had a date with his destiny. Don Tony Gravani of Detroit, Michigan extended his life a little by not attending the peace talks between his family and that of Don Tony Devenolla in Los Angles. In L.A. the Executioner, the mob's personal angel of death sent a great many of Don Gravani's men to the eternal mafia retirement home, but since Gravani himself wasn't present a personal visit is in order.  
  
With his mobile arsenal in order, intelligence unknowingly provided by the F.B.I., and everything else he would need checked and double- checked, Marcus Bolan laid down on his bed for a short nap before his 11 PM departure. He hoped that by leaving at that time he could arrive in Detroit shortly after 3 AM, make a quick easy hit on Gravani and be back to his new home by 7 AM.  
  
Marcus laid down on his bed, began to drift off and then enjoyed blissful slumber. This slumber however wasn't to last. With less than ten minutes of sleeping under his belt Bolan was awakened to a loud, heavy, official pounding on the door.  
  
He stood, grabbed his Magnum 357 off of the nightstand and walked out of his bedroom, through the living room and to the front door. Standing to the side, he opened it. He grabbed the man on the other end by the collar, dragged him inside and forced him on the floor face down placing the 357 in the back of his head. "Can I help you?" He greeted the visitor.  
  
"Bbbolan," The man stammered, "Don't you remember me? We met in D.C. Phil Lopez. Deputy Director of the CIA. I work for Firecracker."  
  
"I remember you. That still doesn't tell me what your doing here or how you found me." Bolan responded pressing the barrel of his firearm tighter into the back of Lopez's head.  
  
"This would be easier if you would let me up. Maybe let me sit down and offer me a beer. Check me, I'm unarmed. Hal sent me."  
  
"No. He said he wouldn't tell anyone about his dealings with me."  
  
"Check me."  
  
Bolan gave his unannounced visitor a quick pat down and once he was satisfied that Lopez was unarmed he allowed him to stand but kept Phil's quick death pointed right at him.  
  
"Talk." Bolan instructed.  
  
"Maybe you'd better sit down for this." Lopez cautioned.  
  
"I won't say this again. If you don't talk now I'm going to have to move again and my landlord is going to have fun using my security deposit to clean you up. Now talk." Marcus said in an ice cold, blood-chilling tone.  
  
"Bolan. I'm just coming out and saying this. Hal died last night."  
  
Marcus pulled the hammer back and said, "Your running out of time fast Phil."  
  
"Wait Bolan. Give me a chance to tell you everything."  
  
"Do it quick." Was Bolan's reply.  
  
"Hal had a heart attack. He survived it, but had four more while he was in the hospital. They couldn't get his heart to maintain a steady beat."  
  
"What I want to know is why are you here. How did you find me?" Marcus said not wanting to believe what he just heard.  
  
"Bolan. Please, shut up and give me a chance to talk."  
  
"I am. And you're using up my patience."  
  
"Like I was saying. When Hal realized that he wasn't going to make it, he didn't want you left on your own. He wanted someone he trusted to help you out. That someone is me. He briefed me on your private war, his unofficial sanctioning of your activities, everything. I'm your new contact."  
  
"And I suppose you have some proof of this." Bolan challenged without moving the 357.  
  
"In my brief case. It landed outside your door when you attacked me."  
  
"Go ahead and get the briefcase. Then, move out to the center of the street to open it. Dump its contents on the road but in the streetlight so that I can have a view of what you have in there."  
  
"Bolan. Come on." Lopez half begged.  
  
"You seem to forget. I have all the bargaining chips here. All I can say is, if you don't do as I say I feel awfully sorry for my landlord."  
  
Knowing that Bolan wasn't bluffing, Lopez answered, "Fine. Fine. Just watch, I only want to have to do this once."  
  
Phil walked past Marcus with Bolan's weapon moving from its aimed point at Lopez's heart to the side of his head, once again to the heart from the back.  
  
Bolan's gaze never moved from Lopez as he walked outside, snatched up his briefcase and kept walking to the center of the road. Once he was there he turned around slowly, laid it down on the ground and opened it. He then removed everything from the case and then, to prove to Bolan it was empty he held one end in each hand holding the briefcase itself upside down.  
  
Marcus gave a cursory examination of the contents on the road and once he was satisfied that nothing represented a threat to him he said, "Come back in."  
  
"Sorry about that. But when you are the most wanted man by both your country's government and it's underworld you don't trust anyone. Now, what is this evidence you have?" Marcus apologized.  
  
Phil removed a VHS tape from his briefcase and said, "Play this an your VCR and I'm sure all your questions will be answered."  
  
Marcus did so and was immediately looking at a pale, very sickly looking Hal Brognola lying in a hospital bed.  
  
"Hey Junior." Hal began in a voice that highlighted his weakened. "If you are watching this, I guess that means I'm dead. This bum heart I didn't know I had took me. So here I am, speaking to you from beyond that grave. BOO! Ok, ok, I have to admit that was a morbid attempt at humor but smile for a dead old man huh. Listen, I made this tape because I knew you'd be suspicious of Phil. I did tell him about you, our agreements, everything. He is your new contact, so please don't go and do anything like kill him." At this Marcus and Phil looked at each other and smiled and Hal continued. "I went to my grave honored to have helped both you and your dad in your wars. Personally I think you guys did the right thing even though the law says you didn't. You both have been good friends to me. Well, I guess that's all. I'll see you someday when you reach this side." Hal pointed at the camera giving the impression that he was pointing at Marcus. "However, don't make it too soon huh. I'm over here catching up with your mom and dad, you have to give me time to learn all sorts of embarrassing secrets about you before you arrive. So take care my friend. Don't take this wrong, but I hope I don't see you on this end until you've reached a ripe old age like I have. Live a good, long and happy life." Hal smiled and the footage ended.  
  
Silence filled the room, both men restraining unmanly tears. Bolan broke the silence by saying, "Lets try this again shall we. Phil, long time no see. Come on in and have a seat while I grab us a beer."  
  
The two men enjoyed several beers and spoke fondly of the dearly departed for hours before Phil stood and took his leave. Marcus decided to allow himself an extra forty-eight hours before leaving for Detroit, he didn't want the news of Hal's passing to affect his performance there.  
  
**  
  
As Bolan and Lopez's confrontation concluded, Seattle Washington, Detroit Michigan and the Bronx New York were once again connected in a crime lord teleconference.  
  
"I know Detroit is next on his list. His last known location was in Portage, which is only three hours from here. He knows from his little adventure in L.A. just as well as I do just how weak I am here now. Anyone with brains would hit me and hit me hard before I have the opportunity to strengthen my forces here." Tony Gravani whined, his fear evident in his voice.  
  
"There is no doubt that our troubles have to be dealt with. However, this is not the time, the place or the way to deal with them. I'm positive that our conversation has a pest problem just now." Louis Vitale chimed in cryptically.  
  
"Plus, in person meetings would be the best way to go anyway for us. Combine our security for them and let this headache of ours try to get us. I'd be happy to host you gentleman in my fair city of Seattle. If our pain is in Detroit, I am a lot farther away from him then New York. By the time he figures out where everyone is, all three of our cities will have head teams on every street corner just waiting for him to poke his head out. And when he does, WHACK off it comes just like an unlucky immortal in Highlander." George Milazzo added.  
  
A moment of silence passed as the other two surviving Commission members considered Milazzo's offer.  
  
Gravani was the first to answer with, "Well. You've got more boys in Seattle then I do here. I'll get in touch with the airport and be there at noon tomorrow."  
  
Vitale ran his hand over his jaw and said, "Yeah. Me to. I'll be there at noon. Same airport."  
  
A big, smile crossed Milazzo's face as he said, "Great. I'll be there personally to welcome you to my city. Hospitality can never start too early."  
  
On that note, the lines to the teleconference broke and the discussions ended for now.  
  
**  
  
Noon the next day arrived and Don Gravani and Don Vitale proved to be men of their words. Somehow they had managed to secure commercial flights from their home territories and arrive in Seattle at the specified time. Don Milazzo also proved good to his word by being there to meet them when they left the secured area of the airport. However none of the men were alone. All had brought a sufficient amount of protection with them.  
  
"Ah greetings friends of mine and welcome to my city. I hope your flights were enjoyable." George Milazzo started.  
  
"Very." Vitale replied.  
  
"No complaints here." Gravani added in.  
  
"I'd like you to meet the son of my underboss Antonio Depta. He represented the Milazzo family on the Bolan hit and now serves as my chief hammer. Antonio this is Dons Vitale and Gravani." Milazzo introduced.  
  
Gravani shook the hand of the Milazzo family hammer and sadly thought of his own son Bill who had been with this Depta on the Bolan hit but had died in L.A. at the hands of either Bolan or the Devenolla family. Which he would never know for sure. How Bill would have liked to have been here to see Depta again.  
  
At this point Milazzo's chief bodyguard said, "Boss. Maybe we should move this to a better place. I don't know where this Bolan guy is and I don't trust him not to be in this airport with us. He has a knack for being wherever our friends are."  
  
Milazzo patted the bodyguard on the shoulder and said, "Yes, yes of course. Very well then. Let us get out of here."  
  
** Exactly forty-eight hours after his self-imposed leave, Marcus pulled his mobile arsenal into the city of Detroit. Immediately upon his arrival, Bolan parked his van in a public parking garage and walked to the nearest car rental where he rented Lincoln Town Car and began his surveillance of Detroit's underbelly.  
  
He started by sitting in his vehicle and reading the F.B.I. surveillance reports that had been passed under the table to him by the late Hal Brognola. Disappointment quickly set in as he drove by fencing operations, clubs, homes, every place that was listed in the surveillance reports and only saw half of the activity and the number of Mafioso that he should have seen. The disappointment became greater as he realize that none of the targets he had come for were showing their faces.  
  
When driving around didn't provide any results, he parked his rental car, stowed the weapons he had chosen to bring with him in carefully concealed locations in the car all except for his Berretta, which was hidden from sight under his jacket and headed out on foot.  
"Hmmmmm must have gone to ground somewhere to wait the Bolan storm out. The question is, where are they." Marcus thought to himself as he walked.  
  
**  
  
Hours later Marcus had given up his search for made men for the time being and opted to eat lunch. He found a small mom and pop type of restraunt, went inside, ordered a grilled cheeseburger and orange juice.  
  
Although the restraunt's staff had carefully prepared the meal, Marcus barely tasted it. He was lost in thoughts of mafia. He sat at the table looking over and over again at the surveillance photos of the guys he should be seeing on the streets and various mob owned facilities in the metro Detroit area but wasn't.  
  
As he finished his meal, Marcus noticed a familiar face walk by him outside the restraunt. He quickly looked at the photos again and identified a minor Gravani crew chief and three of the crewmembers. This specific crew specialized in knocking over semi's that were not under mafia protection and fencing their cargos on the black market.  
  
Marcus wasted no time in putting his surveillance information in the attaché case he'd bought, paying for his meal and getting to the car.  
  
**  
  
He followed them to a small party store. Marcus pulled his car over to the side of the road and consulted his files learning that this was a front for this particular crew's fencing operation. That it did do some legit business, but that all of the employees were crewmembers. No one who wasn't a made or connected man worked there.  
  
Bolan observed the store for a few minutes, just to make sure that no innocents happened to step inside for a lottery ticket or a pack of cigarettes and then burst into the place with his Beretta finding a target dropping it and moving onto the next target as if without guidance from Marcus. When the smoke cleared, the three crewmembers that had been walking with the crew chief were on the ground dead along with the crewmember that was acting as cashier this day. The only two in the building still breathing were Marcus and the crew chief.  
  
"Where is Gravani?" Bolan questioned in the ice-cold voice of his.  
  
"I don't know." The crew chief answered.  
  
"Maybe this will help refresh your memory." Marcus gave the crew chief an upper cut that landed him on his back and then he stepped on the crew chief's manhood. "Now, I'll ask again. Where is Gravani?"  
  
In a pained voice the crew chief answered, "I said I don't know. I don't know all right. I DON'T KNOW! All I know is that he is out of town. Took off with a bunch of the boys but didn't tell no one who isn't top brass about where he was going."  
  
Marcus removed his foot and said, "When you see him. Give him this for me." With that being said Bolan tossed a marksman medal onto the chest of the crew chief and left the convience store.  
  
**  
  
Bolan went immediately to the effiency apartment he rented after he realized that his visit to Detroit wasn't going to be as short as originally predicted. It was Spartan in its décor with an uncomfortable metal folding chair, a card table, an ancient rotary dial telephone and a sleeping bag on the floor. Obviously from the apartment's appearance its tenant did not plan on staying put for long.  
  
Marcus picked up his phone, dialed a number and spoke, "This is Junior. I need to speak to Software please."  
  
"Software." Phil Lopez said on the other end of the line.  
  
" Software, its Junior. The subject for my tour isn't here." Marcus spoke cryptically.  
  
"Yes, I know. I've been waiting for you to contact me on this. Your subject has been on the move since yesterday."  
  
Anger erupted in Marcus and he said in a raised voice, "WHAT! WHAT DO YOU MEAN!"  
  
"What I mean is this. Detroit along with his roundtable of goons boarded a U.S. Airways flight to Seattle Washington yesterday morning and they landed about noon yesterday. Why they are there we don't know, but we do know that the Bronx is there also along with his goon roundtable. We are assuming that the Commission is trying to throw together another pow wow, and that the subject under discussion is the elimination of you." Lopez informed.  
  
A sigh of blatant annoyance filled the phone line and Marcus continued, "And you didn't think this little bit of news was important enough to bother me with? Is that it?"  
  
"You were in transit. I couldn't reach you when I found out. Trust me, I tried." Lopez defended himself.  
  
"Come on man. You'd think you were new to handling field operatives for crying out loud." Bolan said insultingly.  
  
Now the annoyance showed in the voice of Phil Lopez, "No. I'm not new to field operatives. However, I am new to you. You and I do have not had the time to set up proper and regular means of contact so we will have to make due with what we can for the time being. So if you're ready to stop acting childish and pretend you're an adult we can get down to business."  
  
Marcus bit back his retort, forced his anger down and said, "Sure. What more do you have to say?"  
  
"Not much. Just that I have arranged a flight for you out of Detroit metro tomorrow morning to Seattle. You can take out a whole nest of hornets with one swat if you play your cards right."  
  
"No, no plane."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because, if I bring a plane out I'll have to come naked. I'd have to leave all of my toys here. No thank you. I don't know what I'll be running into out there, so I'll want all of the equalizers I have at my disposal."  
  
"Take a train then."  
  
"No."  
  
"A bus."  
  
"No. I'll drive myself."  
  
"That will take you too long. This conference may very well be over by the time you could get from one end of the country to the other. No way."  
  
"Well, I don't see how you have much of a choice in the matter now do you."  
  
"Yeah, I guess not. Ok, just please no sight seeing on the way out." Lopez conceded.  
  
"Not a problem on that one. I'll be out as soon as I can. Junior out." Marcus said hanging up the phone.  
  
**  
  
After many long hours of driving, stopping only for short restroom stops and one very brief catnap the mob's angel of death arrived in Seattle. Wasting no time, immediately upon arriving Marcus began his recon of the Seattle area using the intelligence provided to him by Hal Brognola and most recently Phil Lopez, developing a feel for what is in the works.  
  
The bad feelings he had about Detroit were not to be had here. The lack of mafia sightings in Detroit made up for itself here in Seattle. He saw not only the expected Milazzo family members but also those belonging to the Vitale and Gravani families as well. Yes, this was going to be a good hunt.  
  
**  
  
His reconnaissance work led Bolan to a small coffee house that was known by law enforcement to be one of the property holdings of the Milazzo crime family. Instantly he knew that something big was happening. There were too many made men on the premises, and the "closed for private party" sign hanging in the window told Marcus that he wanted to get a closer look at this particular place.  
  
With his war wagon discreetly parked a quarter mile down the road, Bolan made his approach on foot quickly, quietly and deadly. He was a man on a mission.  
  
As with any mob boss parlay exterior security of the building was slightly heavy. Marcus noted a driver inside of a car parked directly outside the coffee shop, two hard men at the main entrance, two more at the rear employee entrance and one on each side of the building guarding the windows from being penetrated. This may have discouraged most men from getting too close, however for Marcus Bolan it only served to pique his curiosity.  
  
One side of the building was a poorly lit alley and it was this spot where Marcus chose to make his probe of the building's interior. He moved a block south of the coffee house to a street, turned off that street into an alley that fed into the alley he needed to get into without tipping off the rest of the exterior security that he was there.  
  
He approached the window guard and just as he had hoped would happen the guard turned to face him without a verbal challenge. When he got close enough to the guard he took the K-Bar knife out of his jacket sleep and slide into the guard's ribcage piercing his heart. Bolan placed his hand over the guard's mouth the muffle the death scream that he knew from past experience would come.  
  
Marcus hid the guard's corpse behind a dumpster in the alley, returned to the window and took a look inside.  
  
The interior was heavily manned. Marcus gave up counting at fifty people, all he assumed were armed. He thought, "Too many guns for an assault. However I am going to make my presence known." And then retreated to his van to gather the tools of his trade that he would need.  
  
Bolan returned to his starting point at the alley window and moved to the parking lot at the rear of the building. Before he made any moves he checked to reassure himself that there weren't any drivers waiting in cars here as there was out front. The two guards were separated. One was at the door as he should be and the other was walking around the parking lot.  
  
Marcus climbed under one of the parked cars and waited for the made man to approach. As he saw the guy's feet pass by him he reached out and grabbed a hold of the man's ankles bringing him down to the ground.  
  
"You clumsy fool." The door guard shouted at his buddy laughing.  
  
Unknown to the door guard, his partner's throat was slit and Marcus removed his hand from the dead guard's mouth.  
  
Bolan then brought the silenced sniper rifle out from under the car and rested his elbows on the hood of one of the cars and drew a bead on the door guard without being noticed. A whispering messenger of death traveled the air and found it's clean mark in the head of the door guard who just collapsed where he stood without a sound.  
  
From here, Marcus proceeded to the corner of the building but stopped shy of going around to the side. He unsheathed a throwing knife from it's sheath on his upper left arm, then came around the corner and let the knife fly less then a second after catching sight of the side guard. The guard fell to the ground with a gurgle and died.  
  
At this point Marcus stealthily moved to the next corner and discovered a dilemma. How to take out three guards without alerting those inside when two were at the door and one was across the street seated in a car.  
  
He solved this problem by backtracking around the building, down the first alley to the street. He then walked down that street until he made a left on the street the coffee house was on and approached by foot leaving all the weapons he had used this far behind out of necessity.  
  
Bolan boldly walked up to the car with the driver sitting in it and leaned over as if he was going to speak to him. However instead of speaking he planted another throwing knife into the throat of the driver, which he left it sticking out, and dropped his signature marksman medal on the driver's lap, as one of the door guards, who hadn't seen what Marcus did to the driver, challenged, "You don't need to talk to him. Move on now before you regret coming out tonight."  
  
Marcus pulled out his silenced Beretta 9 millimeter and quickly both front door guards were on the ground in their own pools of blood no longer caring what happened at the coffee house.  
  
Appearing to be no more then a shadow dressed in his black battle suit he quickly moved to the alley window, broke the glass with is elbow, dropped a grenade inside and took off running away from the coffee house to his war wagon which he drove off at the speed limit and breaking no traffic laws like any good ordinary person who just hadn't killed a lot of bad guys.  
  
**  
  
"I still don't see you insistence on such tight security Milazzo. I have reports from home that Bolan is in Detroit looking for me. He even gave one of my lower crew chiefs a marksman medal and told him to give it to me." Gravani said inside the coffee house before the grenade went off.  
  
"But we can never be too careful. We haven't expected him to hit us in any of the ways that he has so far and Caparone, Damino, Devenolla, a good many of their men and a lion's share of your men Don Gravani are proof that you can not be too careful. Even when he doesn't appear to be somewhere." George Milazzo countered Gravani.  
  
"Regardless of where he is. This Bolan has to die and die painfully. Then we have to let his body become found and his death made public knowledge. We have to tell everyone that you can't mess with our thing and then live to tell about it. Use him, as an example to other would be vigilantes to show them how foolish beginning their own personal wars against us would be." Vitale chimed in.  
  
The other two mafia Dons shook their heads and mumbled words of agreement with Vitale.  
  
Then glass broke. Everyone in the room looked at the offending window including the three surviving members of the Commission and the grenade went off.  
  
The damage to the coffee house was great. A window that wasn't there, a good chunk of the wall that was gone, tables and chairs lay in pieces, and the floor was scorched and torn up. The damage to the mob was even more so, dead and injured bodies lay strewn all over the area of the explosion including Don Louis Vitale who was alive but had a very badly burned face and a piece of glass protruding from his right eye.  
  
Pandemonium reigned supreme as those who were not dead or injured raced around to render aid to their fallen comrades or to secure the coffee house against a further incursion from whoever let this grenade fly.  
  
Within moments the interior of the coffee house was full with the reflections of the flashing lights of law enforcement, fire trucks, and ambulances.  
  
Men in the uniforms of firefighters and paramedics stabilized the wounded, and began loading them into the ambulances for transport to the hospital, including Vitale.  
  
Some men in the police uniforms began taking photographs of the dead and recording every aspect of "the crime scene" as they call it and "the battleground" and Marcus Bolan refers to it. Others were questioning the surviving and non-injured soldiers who were not being very corporative, and a police detective who was acting as scene commander questioned Dons Milazzo and Gravani who unlike their unfortunate counterpart Vitale survived the encounter with Bolan without injury.  
  
A young patrolman, who looked young enough to be brand new to the force, walked over to the detective and handed him something.  
  
The detective looks at the item and then holds up the marksman medal that was found on the body of the driver. "I'm sure you know what this is." He said matter of factly.  
  
Milazzo shook his head with disgust and said, "He just wants us to know that he is here and not in Detroit anymore." Then he fixed Gravani with an ice-cold stare that would chill the blood of a snowman.  
  
**  
  
A few hours later, all of the Mafioso who was at the coffee house was at the hospital. Either in the morgue in basement, receiving emergency medical treatment for their injuries, or just waiting to hear how their hurt comrades were doing.  
  
Dons Gravani and Milazzo along with several of the higher ups in their respective organizations were sitting in a private waiting room.  
  
"I think we ought to rethink this whole thing." Gravani said.  
  
"What do you mean?" Milazzo said encouraging him to continue.  
  
"You said, come here. Everything will be ok. Bolan is too dimwitted to figure out your not in Detroit. You'll be safe here. Well guess what! Bolan is here and here is not safe." Gravani continued.  
  
"So, you think you should go back to Detroit with your boys? Think you'll be safer there?" Milazzo's underboss added to the conversation.  
  
"No. I think we should move this whole discussion elsewhere. Not just me, all of us. Someplace away from this Bolan lunatic." Gravani answered.  
  
"And where would you have us go? My boys and I can't go anywhere else. Not with our Don being on the injured list. You know that if we pull out, Bolan's going to knock off every one of our injured before he comes after those of us who are whole. I won't allow Don Vitale to meet his fate abandoned." Jimmy Vitale, Lewis Vitale's oldest son and currently the ranking member of the Vitale family said.  
  
"Vitale is right Tony. We are going to have to confront Bolan at some point or another anyway if we plan on killing him. He won't just up and die on his own you know. Here, we are here, he is here. It's not like it is one of us verses Bolan. We all are here with more then enough guns to take him out. I say here it is, we make our stand and if Bolan sticks around he makes his last stand. But it ends here." Milazzo said then he looked at his main hitman, "Antonio. Do you see any problem with the extermination of this rodent?"  
  
Antonia Depta ran his hand lightly over his goatee and shook his head. "No Don. I could do it with just a few men, maybe even by myself. With all of the guns we have here, Bolan is dead. It is just a matter of time and not very much of it at that."  
  
Upon hearing this George Milazzo leaned back in his chair and separated his hands in an open gesture and said, "Well. There you have it. The Vitale and the Milazzo will stay here and end this. Will the Gravani stand with us or run and hide their heads in the sand while the men put the boogie man to rest."  
  
Realizing that he didn't have an argument, Gravani just sighed, ignored the insult leveled at him by Milazzo and said, "No. We will all stand together, a unified front."  
  
Milazzo gave a loud and obviously fake laugh and said, "Good. Now, it is settled. Anyone who tries to run instead of facing Bolan will die at the hands of the Commission instead of Bolan."  
  
"Now, we have matters of our meetings and staying arrangements to discuss." Jimmy Vitale brought up.  
  
"Ah true and how very perceptive of you to mention that." Milazzo said turning his head slowly so that he looked at everyone in the room. "I think it is best if all stay in separate locations. That the Milazzo, the Vitale, and the Gravani don't sleep together. Sure, with all under one roof as planned we would be a much harder target for this Bolan, but by providing softer targets we will draw him out and when he attacks so do we. Each family keeps men ready at all times to respond to the call coming from any of the other families. Security of where you stay is up to each individual family. Is this agreed?"  
  
Tony Gravani and Jimmy Vitale both nodded their heads in agreement.  
  
Milazzo continued, "Good. Now on to our meetings. I think it is best for us to not meet in one location any more then one time. We do this; Bolan knows for sure where we will be next. We keep meeting in different places we keep in off balance and he won't attack while we meet. To add to this, we set up dummy meetings in other locations. It is obvious that somehow he knows the faces of our boys. Not just the higher ups, but all of our boys. After all, he got one of Gravani's hijacking crews back in Detroit. This way, he follows someone; it is very likely he will follow them to the wrong location. Each location keeps in touch with each other by cell phone, and if one meeting gets hit everyone drops what they are doing and rushes to their aid. This agreeable?"  
  
Once again Gravani and Vitale shook their heads in agreement.  
  
"What kind of damage was done to us tonight?" Gravani asked.  
  
"Well, so far we have fifteen dead, another ten hurt badly including my old man. Some of which may not make it. Another twenty will small nothing type injuries. My pop will survive but he is blind in both eyes and from what the docs have told me this blindness is permanent, he will never see again." Vitale informed everyone.  
  
"So, what are our current numbers? Combined families I mean." Gravani asked.  
  
Milazzo looked at Jimmy Vitale questioningly and Vitale shook his head and gave an "I don't know" look.  
  
"Very good question that one is. I'll find out and let both of you know." Milazzo said.  
  
At this point, the detective from the coffee house disaster entered the waiting room and waited to be acknowledged.  
  
"What do you want?" Don Milazzo challenged the detective.  
  
"Well, I just thought you gentlemen might want to know the security measures we have taken to ensure the safeguarding of your friends." The detective answered.  
  
"The measures you have taken don't concern us. We protect our own." Milazzo responded.  
  
"Umm well here Mr. Milazzo you don't. The hospital has stated visiting hours and once those expire, all of you who are not patients here will have to leave the grounds." The detective retorted.  
  
"Sorry detective, but yes we do." Milazzo replied.  
  
"And why by chance makes you think that?" The detective inquired.  
  
"Well, it is simple. We don't trust you. Our men have come closer to taking Bolan off the streets then you cops have. How do we know that he isn't actually working for you on one level or another? As far as we know, as soon as every able bodied man leaves here tonight, you'll turn our injured over to him." Don Milazzo answered.  
  
"Mr. Milazzo, I can assure you that we in law enforcement want this Marcus Bolan just as badly as you do. He is making us look bad on all levels. If he shows up here, he will be taken into custody, arrested, tried in every state that he has killed people in and more then likely executed in one of them. So no, we won't turn your people over to Bolan as soon as you leave and you will not stay here past the posted visiting hours." The detective said.  
  
"Detective. Let me put this question to you. Do you enjoy receiving that rather large supplement to your civil servant paycheck that you get monthly, and if you do, do you want to keep receiving it?" Milazzo questioned.  
  
"Yes Don. You know I do, to both questions." The detective said.  
  
"Good. Then the matter is settled. As many men as I want to will stay here tonight and every other night until I decide to pull them. Any further argument? Milazzo said, his contempt for the man evident in his voice.  
  
The detective shook his head no and said; "I'll arrange it with the hospital." With that the detective left the made men to themselves.  
  
**  
  
The days passed, stress and tension high for both mafia and law enforcement but none the less peaceful. Dons Milazzo, Gravani, and even Vitale were able to check himself out of the hospital for short periods to attend their pow wows in various locations. As a matter of fact, everyone was beginning to wonder if Bolan hadn't felt the heat too great in Seattle and left town after one strike. Little did they know that he had been a shadow to their every movement, not only to the mafia but also to law enforcement who didn't realize that as they tailed the dons, that they themselves were being tailed by Marcus Bolan.  
  
Finally, the day came to break the peace and to set the mob's nerves on end again, to make them jump at shadows. At 8 P.M., the angel of death struck again.  
  
His surveillance led Marcus to a rather large Holiday Inn, where the Gravani had taken up residence during their stay in Seattle. Bolan appeared to be no more then a shadow as he entered the hotel's property in a poorly lit section of the parking lot. A brief recon of the exterior showed quite a few hard men in the parking lot. Bolan did his best to avoid them, but was surprised by one that by chance happened to walk into him. This proved to be only a slight problem though because with a quick break of the neck the mafia soldier went limp and wouldn't ever get back up. Marcus dragged the body over to a small patch of trees that were grown as a parking lot decoration and laid the body out of the immediate line of sight of anyone who may have otherwise noticed it.  
  
After penetrating the property, Bolan checked every door leading into the hotel. He quickly decided they were all too heavily guarded for him to enter. Even if he succeeded in taking out every made man at one of the doors without anyone else noting his presence that many people off post would raise eyebrows. After all, one or two men wandering off is one thing, but six or more. Someone would look for answers right away and right away might be too early for Marcus's well being.  
  
Fortunately for Bolan however the house keeping staff of this particular Holiday Inn made a habit of leaving the drapes open in vacant rooms. So he came to the first vacant room he found that was eclipsed by shadows, this was important so that the broken window wasn't readily evident to the casual observer. He drew his silenced Beretta, held it in his right hand, stood with his back to the window and took it out with his left elbow. He then lowered his level and observed the parking lot to make sure that the breaking glass hadn't been heard and that anyone who had heard it wasn't coming right away to investigate. Once he was positive that he hadn't been detected yet, he removed the remaining shards of glass as quickly and quietly as he could without creating a huge gash on his hand that he would have to suffer with on this operation. Once this was completed he pulled himself through the window and entered the room. After gaining entrance to the hotel, he pulled the dark red drapes shut to make the broken window even harder to notice.  
  
Marcus slowly made his way through the unlit room with his eyes not moving anywhere the barrel of his handgun wasn't facing. He didn't know what was waiting for him on the other side of the door and knew he wasn't likely to be able to get a good enough tactical view of the hallway from cracking the door and peeking out, so once he made it to the door he threw it open and rushed the hall.  
  
This tactic worked because the three Gravani hard men were still giving him looks of shock and confusion at the surprise appearance of an armed man dressed in a black commando outfit when Bolan's silent bullets found their marks in the heads of the mafia members. Marcus pulled the three corpses into the room and reminded himself mentally that he would have to watch out for innocents who may cross his field of fire.  
  
He worked his way down that hall, to the stairs then up to the next floor where his recon showed Tony Gravani to be staying. He had to pay an off duty hotel employee five hundred dollars for Gravani's room number, but it was worth it to take a man like that out of the world.  
  
Once he made it to the floor Bolan looked through the door's window and noticed two hard men standing guard outside of Gravani's door. Marcus opened the stairwell door and immediately sent two whispering angels of death through the air. With clean shots to their heads both men fell to the floor. Bolan quickly pulled the bodies into the stairwell and opened the door to Don Gravani's room with the key provided him by his paid informant. The room was empty.  
  
Working on the intelligence provided by the hotel employee on his payroll, Bolan knew that the entire floor was occupied by Gravani family members or vacant so he began a room-to-room search for Don Gravani.  
  
This entire search discovered was ten Gravani men sleeping; Marcus presumed they were another shift of protection for the Don. All ten men soon slept the sleep of the dead with slit throats  
  
With the empty floor building confusion in him Bolan moved back to the stairwell and considered other likely locations the Don might be found.  
  
Before withdrawing this assault Marcus decided to check the common areas of the hotel for signs of Gravani. His first stop was the hotel's restraunt. Here he noticed Gravani men along with innocent hotel guest, however the Don wasn't present. Bolan decided to leave the made men in this room along instead of putting innocent lives at risk and tipping off Gravani that he was here.  
  
His second stop was the hotel's bar. This also had Gravani men mixed in with innocents, but yet again it revealed no Don Gravani. Once again, Marcus decided not to risk hitting this location since it wouldn't provide the fruits he sought.  
  
Next he tried to work out facility. This was vacant of everyone, mafia and innocent.  
  
He decided his last stop before leaving would be the pool area. He peered in through the window here and saw Gravani sitting in the pool with his three surviving sons who were also his top people with him in Seattle. He also counted six hard men sitting at table around the pool, so no doubt there were at least six loaded guns in the room, probably more somewhere within reach of Gravani and his boys.  
  
Bolan once again charged and all six bodyguards at the tables joined their friends that Marcus had encountered so far today before they could react.  
  
He then turned his silenced Beretta on the men sitting in the pool, for who time seemed to have frozen.  
  
"Man you made this hard." Marcus said and then fired a single round into each of their heads, the Don's messenger of death landing right between his eyes.  
  
Marcus left the pool that was gradually turning red behind, and quickly but silently made his way back to the room he had used to enter the hotel, back out the window and briskly walked back to his awaiting van.  
  
**  
  
It only took five minutes for the call to 911 to come in from the Holiday Inn, three minutes after that the news of Bolan's newest massacre arrived to the detective on Milazzo's payroll at home and another thirty minutes for him to arrive at the gate to the Milazzo estate.  
  
The gate guard called up to the main house and Milazzo authorized the guard to allow the corrupt detective to pass. The detective pulled his car up to the parking garage but stopped short of pulling into it. He left his car and was met by a man in an immaculately tailored suit.  
  
"Detective. What are you doing here?" The man challenged.  
  
"Antonio, this is for the Don. If he permits you can sit in while I talk to him." The detective answered Antonio Depta.  
  
Depta gave a mocking bow and said, "Right this way sir."  
  
The detective followed the stone cold killer to Don Milazzo's den where Milazzo sat on an extremely plush couch, drinking a glass of wine and reading a book that the detective couldn't make the title out on.  
  
Upon seeing his guest enter the den the Don stood up and said, "Ah detective. What a pleasant surprise. Would you care for a glass of wine while we talk?"  
  
"That's very gracious of you Don Milazzo, but no. I won't be here very long. I've just come to bring you some news about a friend of yours before you hear about it on the news tonight." The detective answered.  
  
Milazzo sat down and said with a gesture of the hand encouraging the detective to continue, "Antonio, you can stay for this. Well, that is appreciated. Do tell."  
  
"Bolan hit the Holiday Inn that Don Gravani was staying in. He took out several of Gravani's remaining men along with the Don himself."  
  
"Your telling me that Don Gravani is dead?" Milazzo asked.  
  
"Yes Don. We are still not sure how Bolan managed it. Don Gravani had men inside and outside on the look out for him. In addition to this, I had taken it upon myself to station plain clothed officers inside the hotel and sitting in cars outside."  
  
"Let me get this right. You had police officers watching the Don?" Milazzo inquired anger showing not only in his voice but his face as well.  
  
"Yes sir." The detective answered.  
  
"And let me get this right. You, a man we pay to help us limit our involvement with the police was the one who put them there. Right?"  
  
"Yes Don."  
  
"And I suppose you have them keeping an eye on me and Don Vitale to huh?" Milazzo inquired further.  
  
"Yes sir. I had men placed on all three of you."  
  
"WHY! HOW STUPID ARE YOU!" The Don blew up.  
  
"I thought I'd help protect you. Bolan is one tough man, Navy S.E.A.L. and all." The detective answered with an amount fear evident in his voice and face to rival the Don's anger.  
  
"Protect us? Detective, we don't need your protection, and we don't need officers in plain cloths that we don't know are there around us where they may hear things we don't want them to hear."  
  
"Don Milazzo. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking." The detective tried to cover for himself.  
  
Milazzo's voice and demeanor softened as he said, "That's ok detective. Everyone makes mistakes. Tell me, was it terribly risky for you to come out here to tell me about poor Don Gravani?"  
  
"No sir. No one knows that I also work for you, so I came out here on my own initiative and I didn't tell anyone in the department. I borrowed a neighbor's car without his knowledge so that the officers stationed nearby your house wouldn't realize that it was me pulling coming to visit."  
  
" An honorable police officer stole a car? Now this is a treat. Were the officers you have around my house able to see your license plate?"  
  
"No sir. I know how they are positioned so I came in a way that I doubt they were even able to get a make on the car."  
  
"You are a smart man detective. Well I appreciate you coming out here tonight to tell me about dear Don Gravani. I won't hold you up any longer though. Please, have a nice night. My housekeeper will show you the way out."  
  
The detective stood up to leave and as soon as he was out of ear shot Milazzo turned to Depta and said, "He has become too comfortable with our relationship and that comfort is making him stupid. He is not to have a tomorrow. See to it."  
  
Antonio stood up and said, "As you wish it Don." And left the room, and within half an hour he was pouring cement over the car that was stolen by the police officer with the detective's lifeless body inside.  
  
As soon as Antonio left his den, Milazzo picked up the phone and called Don Vitale and told him the bad news about Don Tony Gravani.  
  
**  
  
It wasn't even an hour before the news of Don Gravani's death along with so many of his men made it's way onto the T.V, and the hospital where Louis Vitale was recovering became a buzz of activity inside of the private waiting room where the Don's mafia bodyguard slept when they were not on duty. However, no sleeping was being done now. Now, the hospital director along with some of her staff, the chief of the Seattle police dept. along with more then a few uniformed police officers, and Jimmy Vitale along with many of the higher ups of the Vitale crime family where locked in heated discussion.  
  
"We are going no where. We have no place to go. Besides, my father is not done healing yet." Jimmy Vitale said.  
  
"And as I've already told you Mr. Vitale, your father no longer needs medical attention. His life is in no further danger from the injuries that he sustained. You guys have a mad man after you and I will not allow the next front of his war to be fought under my watch. Every one of your men whose life is no longer at risk must leave the facility. We will, without question allow the ones who still require medical attention to remain here." Sarah Knock, the hospital's director said.  
  
"Who are you to tell us what we have to do. I will not allow my family to be treated this way at home or when we are visiting friends as we are now." Jimmy argued in a calm professional tone of voice.  
  
"Look. Mr. Vitale has been allowed to leave the hospital everyday pretty much since he has come here for whatever it is you guys do and he has been allowed to return to his room every night. I'm telling you that there is nothing more that we can do for him now and we need this bed for people we can help." Sarah continued in a voice which could just have easily have been discussing a new menu option for patients.  
  
" Like I've already said Mrs. Knock. My father will continue to be a patient in this hospital until such time as I feel he is ready for discharge. What part of this don't you understand?" Vitale continued in the same tone of voice.  
  
"The part where you done run this hospital or make the decisions as to what is best for it. I do. Now, what is best for this hospital is for Marcus Bolan not to show up here guns a blazing where my real patients, patients in true need of our medical service may be injured by accident. Now sir, you and all of your men who do not need our attention will just have to find somewhere else to stay. We are a hospital, not a hotel." The hospital director stood her ground.  
  
" Mrs. Knock. This conversation has continued long enough and it shows no sign of ending soon, just going around and around. Now, I need you to say exactly what you mean and Mr. Vitale I need you to remain quite until she and I are both finished." Chief Tril said.  
  
"Mr. Vitale, I am going to see to the immediate discharge of all people not requiring medical attention at this time. When I am completed, everyone who is not registered as a patient at this facility must leave the grounds not to return unless they find themselves in need of medical attention once again. This not returning also includes visiting those who are patients here. I repeat, patients only may be here." Director Knock stated firmly.  
  
"Ok Mr. Vitale there you have it. You and your men have just been banned from the grounds unless you require medical attention in front of uniformed police officers. If you or anyone of your men not registered as a patient here return without being in need of medical attention you will be arrested for criminal trespass. I guarantee you that if this happens you will not be free to come and go for your little mafia meetings has you have been here. So I strongly suggest you find a hotel. You have an hour to be off of the grounds." The chief of police said.  
  
"Now wait a minute here." Vitale began.  
  
"Mr. Vitale, if we wait a minute then you will only have fifty nine to make your arrangements before we place each and everyone of you under arrest. I'd strongly suggest you not waste that minute." Chief Tril interrupted him.  
  
With that the police officers and the hospital staff stood and left the waiting room and left the Mafioso to make whatever plans for accommodation they could.  
  
**  
  
As he did between announcing his arrival in Seattle and hitting Tony Gravani, Marcus Bolan laid low for a few days observing his adversaries to get a firm understanding of how his actions changed the field of play. What he noticed was that the mafia was in no way taking the Bolan threat lightly. The Milazzo estate was turned into a heavily armed fortress. The same was true with the hotel that the Vitale had taken up housing in. There was no way for a single man to hit either of these locations and have a chance at coming out of it alive. That didn't concern Marcus for he began his war fully expecting that he would eventually be added to its body count. The reason for these options becoming unacceptable was that they offered a low probability of success, and that failure was not an option to him. If he was to die, he was going to take as many mafia bosses as he could.  
  
His opponents continued to meet in varied locations still trying to throw him off, with false meetings occurring elsewhere to distract him. These meetings had become just as poor of a target as the hotel and Milazzo complex. While neither Don had their full manpower present, after all they needed bodies for the fake meetings as well as to ensure the safety of where they rested their heads, they still brought enough manpower each that when combined created more guns then Bolan wanted to have pointing at him in one setting. The Vitale provided exterior security for the meetings while the Milazzo provided interior security.  
  
Travel for each of the surviving Commission Dons was conducted by a heavily armed convey to and from the location of the meetings. Usual no less then three cars, but there have been as many as six, and Marcus was left to assume that each car was crammed to the bursting point with bad guys that carried guns.  
  
After much recon and planning, the day for Bolan's next strike came.  
  
**  
  
He stood in the tree line shadows waiting for the motorcade to come into view with a Stinger missile launcher on his shoulder. The last time he tried this attack in Chicago, his target wasn't in the vehicle. Marcus could only hope that the mob didn't pull another fast one him this time because if they did, he had no idea of what to do next. The mafia was feeling his presence strongly and was buckling down; they knew that he was just as big of a threat to them as the late great Mack Bolan was.  
  
The motorcade pulled into view. Bolan targeted the lead car knowing that Milazzo should be in the second car and let a missile take flight. The missile streaked into the lead car, which leaped into the air in a bright red and orange flame and landed on the second car.  
  
The remaining car in the motorcade veered sharply to the left but still clipped the back drivers side of the second car. The third car came to a quick stop and it's passengers debarked immediately to render aid to their comrades in the stricken vehicles.  
  
Marcus wasted no time. As soon as the Stinger was away he dropped the launcher and pulled his M-16 up off the ground. Round after round were sent into the three mob owned cars. Bolan saw all six of the made men from the third car drop to the ground and not get back up. He continued pouring fire into the two vehicles immediately put out of commission by his Stinger until every round of ammunition he had had been spent.  
  
Time was of the essence now since law enforcement was not far from this particular prey. As soon his last bullet was fired, Marcus dropped the M- 60 to the ground and rushed down to the carnage he had created. Since he began this front with a Stinger missile and a M-60, Bolan saw no need to used any of his silenced weapons and unholstered the 357 from its shoulder harness as he ran, the sirens of the incoming emergency vehicles indicated a drastic lack of time eliminating the caution that had become so characteristic of him.  
  
Once he was on the scene he made a quick examination of the third car's personnel. Once he noted that all six were dead he turned his attention to the second car. Only one of the car's occupants remained alive, one of Don Milazzo's bodyguards. The 357 belched once and none of the second car's occupants remained alive including the attacks two intended targets Don George Milazzo and his main hammer Antonio Depta, killed the bodies were in such bad shape that Marcus couldn't tell if they had been killed by the lead car landing on them or by his the M-60 fire. Either way it didn't matter, what did is that they were dead and only one Mafia Don remained that needed to die.  
  
He reholstered his 357, dropped a marksman medal on Milazzo's body and ran as fast as his Navy S.E.A.L. endurance conditioning would permit him to the fire trail in the woods where his van was parked and sped off before the police arrived.  
  
**  
  
Up until this time, he had set a pattern in Seattle of hit, lay low for a few days, hit and then lay low again for a few days. It was time to break that pattern before Vitale learned that he was the sole surviving Don on the Mafia's ruling Commission and really tightened up his personal security. Vitale hadn't had time to learn of the mafia's most recent losses and would be waiting at the location of tonight's meet. The police would still have their hands full with the havoc he had raised this far into the night and wouldn't realize the need to contact their men keeping an eye on Vitale right away. This was the perfect time to make his final strike at The Commission that had ordered the execution of his parents.  
  
Marcus pulled his van into a used car lot and changed out of his battle rig into a red mock neck sweater, a pair of black pants, and a nice looking pair of loafers. He then put his shoulder holsters back on himself and covered them with a black sports jacket. Marcus added to this disguise a pair of wire rim costume glasses with glass lenses and with the help of a special gluing compound attached a fake goatee to his face to further disguise his appearance.  
  
He then exited his van and borrowed a mid ninety's Cadillac from the lot's owners and drove to the location of the meet.  
  
It was time to attempt a tactic that the elder Bolan had used so many times effectively during his war on the mob. That tactic is role camouflage, convincing the enemy that your one of them long enough for you to kill them.  
  
**  
  
The meet was to be held in a little hole in the wall, dive type bar that was also owned by the Milazzo Family. It was run at a loss, the only of the Milazzo enterprises legal or otherwise to be run that way. The Hangover was more of a crew hangout then an attempt to turn a profit, which is why it is still open. The main customers were the family members of various crews.  
  
Inside The Hangover, Don Vitale sat at a table with his son Jimmy Vitale and his underboss and younger brother Theodore Vitale. Two more of Vitale's men were at the pool table playing a round and three more were at the dartboard. Upon the arrival of the Milazzo's interior security force these five men would join the other Vitale men outside.  
  
"What is taking Milazzo so long? This meet was suppose to begin," Vitale stopped for a second, "Jimmy, what time is it?"  
  
"Um it's 7:30 pop." Vitale's son answered.  
  
"He was supposed to be here thirty minutes ago." Vitale finished what he began saying.  
  
"Don, I'm sure there is a reasonable explanation. Maybe he just slept too long." His brother responded, referring to his own brother as Don for the benefit of the other five non-related members of the family in the room.  
  
Don Vitale shook his head and said, "No, no. If there is one thing that Don Milazzo is anal about it is being punctual to everything. He always shows up exactly on time. Never one minute late or one minute early. Always exactly on time. No exceptions. Something has happened."  
  
"Pop, don't jump to conclusions. We made it here without troubles from Bolan Jr. so will he. After all, this is his home turf; he will know what to do and where to go if he runs into a problem. Plus, we live in the day of the cell phone. If he found trouble he is better protected then you are. He would have plenty of time to fire off a call to warn us even if Bolan did get him." Jimmy assured his father.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, maybe your right. Who knows, maybe I'm getting a little paranoid in my old age huh." Louis Vitale replied to his son.  
  
The three at the table fell into silence as the Don listened to the sounds around him. Slowly a sad smile found it's way onto his face. "That is the sounds of a pool game I hear huh?" He inquired.  
  
"Yeah pop." Jimmy answered with sadness in his voice that matched the look on his father's face.  
  
"Ah, I use to love that game. I could play game after game for hours on end. As a matter of fact, my first personal racket was to open a pool hall of my own and then take my cut from the pool sharks who I allowed to prey on the unknowing. Good men those sharks where. Once I became Don, a good many of them were made into the family." The Don reminisced.  
  
Another moment of silence passed at the table, Don Vitale lost in his own world and the others not sure how to reply to the Don's self pity. It was something they were unaccustomed to hearing come from him.  
  
Louis took another drink of his beer and asked, "What else are the boys doing in here?"  
  
"Two are playing pool and three are playing darts boss." His brother answered, still following family protocol for speaking directly to the Don.  
  
"Ah, darts. Another fantastic game that I will never play again. How I am going to miss being able to see." The Don said.  
  
**  
  
Outside The Hangover, Marcus pulled up in front of the bar in the Cadillac. He put the car into park and got out just as one of the two door guards made his way to the car. As he drove up he noticed two guards at the door, one across the street and down ten feet on both sides, and every ten feet the Vitale soldier alternated sides. Marcus was unable to tell how the other sides of the building were protected.  
  
"Sorry man, but this is a private party tonight. You'll have to go elsewhere for your beer." The door guard said.  
  
A cocky grin crossed Bolan's face and he said, "Sure. No problem, but I think my boss would have a problem with that."  
  
"What is your boss gonna do to us. The man is nothing more then anyone else in this town is." The door guard answered.  
  
"Ah, I see. I'll be sure to tell Don Milazzo how you feel about him."  
  
Blood seemed to empty quickly from the door guard's face before he said, "Did you say Don Milazzo?"  
  
"Yeah. And I do believe that we are in my city which makes me more of a somebody here then you are. Look, if you don't believe me just step inside and flag down one of Don Milazzo's other men. They will vouch for me." Bolan continued acting out his role camouflage.  
  
The door guard's blood returned to his face and a skeptical look crossed his face. "They are late too. Their whole group isn't here. As a matter of fact, if your part of the Milazzo security force, why aren't you with his convoy?"  
  
"Well, now that's a little on the embarrassing side. My old lady wouldn't let me out until she um had satisfaction if you know what I mean. Well, I gave it to her, but it took longer then I expected. So I missed everyone else," Bolan answered sheepishly then turning his voice to concern said, "They really aren't here yet?"  
  
"Ah, and with the Milazzo this thing of ours does not come before everything else?" The door guard pressed.  
  
"Oh yeah it does. And when the Don gets here I'll be forking out just all of my last take from my loan sharking gig and maybe a lil more."  
  
"You strapped?" The door guard asked.  
  
"Aren't you? Not much good guarding our Dons inside now am I if I'm not. You know, just incase this Bolan guy shows up and somehow manages to get past you boys." Bolan retorted.  
  
"Let me see." The skeptical door guard continued his questioning.  
  
"Ugh this is going too far." Bolan complained in role as he opened his jacket to show both filled shoulder holster.  
  
The door guard motioned towards the door, "I don't know why I believe you. Something about this whole set up don't feel so right but for some reason I do. Go ahead. Maybe after this is done we can meet for a beer, you know, so there is no hard feelings over this."  
  
"Sure. I'm up for that." Bolan said.  
  
"Cool. Now, be careful. Don Vitale does not like to be kept waiting and Don Milazzo is real late. He won't be very friendly." The door guard cautioned.  
  
"Thanks for the heads up man." Bolan said and then turned his back and went inside the bar.  
  
**  
  
As soon as the door opened, all seven men with sight watched Bolan enter and Louis Vitale turned his head that way wishing he could see who came in.  
  
"Don Milazzo, it is about time. I was starting to think that that Bolan guy got to you or something." Vitale said.  
  
Bolan shut the door and as he unholstered his silenced 9mm he said, "Your right." With that Bolan killed the five bodyguards where they stood along with Don Vitale's brother and son.  
  
Vitale heard the bodies hitting the ground and the table he sat at, the slight sounds made by each man as Bolan's bullets landed in their heads.  
  
"What is going on? Jimmy, Ted, talk to me." The sole surviving Commission Don said nearing panic.  
  
"They can't Vitale. And you'd better not speak any louder then I am or you're as dead as they are."  
  
"Dead? So you are Bolan. Why shouldn't I raise my voice, you're going to kill me anyhow ain't you." The Don said in a business as usual voice.  
  
"True. You did order my parents dead."  
  
"Your old man killed many good friends of mine while we were coming up through the ranks. He deserved what he got." Don Vitale replied.  
  
"As will you." Bolan said with his icy chill voice.  
  
" Ah, I guess from your world view I should. But still, why shouldn't I call for help?" Vitale continued in the same disinterested voice.  
  
"Well, lets think about this. It wouldn't do much for your legacy as a leading figure in the underworld for you to go down screaming like a little girl in your dying moments now would it?"  
  
"Ah, so true. So, why is it that I'm still breathing?" Vitale asked as casually as if he was asking about the weather.  
  
"That's easy. I want to know how you learned where my parents where."  
  
"Ah, sorry my friend but, well to put it in your Navy S.E.A.L. speak that is classified."  
  
"Well, let me sweeten the deal for you then. You tell me now and I'll let you die quickly and painlessly. Just like your brother and poor Jimmy. However, if you are not a good boy I'll make you wish you were visiting one of your turkey doctors."  
  
"Ah, Bolan you are a very funny man. As a matter of fact, I'd be willing to offer you a position in my organization. I'm the last Don on the council I'm assuming so I'll lift the price on your head. It's a live live deal."  
  
"Oh, so tempting Don Vitale. Almost a deal I can't refuse but you forgot one detail. I don't care about live live, I'd be happy with die die as long as you are one of the people doing the dying."  
  
"Ah. Well, I thought it was worth a try. You'd make one fine hammer. However I am sorry, the Code of Omerta is a sacred thing and cannot be broken. Even if it means I can die easier." Vitale sighed.  
  
Marcus walked casually to the bar and grabbed a rag, then walked back to Vitale and shoved it in his mouth. Without preamble Bolan fired a silent bullet into the Don's kneecap.  
  
Louis fell to the ground whimpering as he went the rag staying in place.  
  
Bolan pulled Vitale's head off the ground and said, "Now let me ask you again. How did you find out where my parents where hiding and the name they were using?"  
  
Vitale shook his head in defiance so Bolan put another bullet into the back of his left shoulder and asked, "Now?"  
  
Once again Bolan put a bullet into the back end of Vitale's last good knee. "Now?"  
  
Once again Vitale shook his head in defiance with a soft sob and tears in his eyes so Bolan placed an expertly fired non fatal shot into the small of Vitale's back paralyzing him. "Now?"  
  
Even in the high degree of pain he was in, Vitale continued his defiance. This time, instead of placing another shot into the Don, Bolan walked over to the bar and grabbed a toothpick. Then he leaned down to the Don's ear and said, "Tell you what I'm going to do. I've decided to let you live. But first, I'm going to use this tooth pick here to rob you of your hearing, and then I'm going to apply just enough pressure to your throat to make it so you won't be able to speak again. I think it will be more therapeutic for me to see the man responsible for the death of my parents to go through life blind, crippled, deaf and unable to speak. I bet you'd enjoy life like that to huh?"  
  
Vitale's defiance crumpled at the thought of life like that and began shaking his head.  
  
"You're going to talk?" Bolan asked.  
  
Vitale shook his head yes.  
  
"Now, when I take the gag out of your mouth, you will not talk loud, scream or do anything to catch the attention of the guys outside right?" Bolan asked.  
  
The last Don shook his head no and Bolan removed the gag and said, "Now, who told you where my parents were."  
  
Vitale chirped out, "Dalton Key. FBI agent. I paid him. Kill me now please."  
  
"Where is he?"  
  
"I don't know. We talked by a 1-800 number. Kill me now." Vitale said with the amount of pain he was in seeping out in his voice like the blood out of his wounds.  
  
"Ok. I believe you. Sleep well Don Vitale." Marcus said then he placed a silent round into the back of Vitale's head putting him out of his misery.  
  
However, Vitale didn't die silently. He screamed at his last second which brought the door guard Bolan had spoken to just a few minutes before in the door to investigate.  
  
The door guard immediately realized what happened, drew his gun and fired at Bolan. Marcus heard the bullet buzz by his head. Way to close for his comfort. Bolan returned fire and dropped the Mafioso dead in his tracks.  
  
He ran through the door, caution to the wind since the exterior guard was aware of his presence already firing a shot into the chest of the second door guard on his way out. He ran back to the borrowed Cadillac trading wild unaimed shots with the rest of the exterior guard on the way.  
  
He jumped into the vehicle and sped off as fast as he could go from being parked. The closest made man jumped out in front of the car and aimed his pistol at Marcus. Marcus rammed him with the front of the car and heard a loud crunching sound from under his driver's side front tire. From the sound of the crunch he knew that it could have only have been a human skull cracking under the weight of the car.  
  
"Well, there is another one to add to the body count." He said as he drove to safety past the bullets that were zinging into the borrowed car.  
  
**  
  
Once he was safely away from The Hangover, Marcus slowed his speed down so that he didn't attract any unwanted law enforcement attention and drove back to the used car lot.  
  
When he arrived he quickly left the car, went to his battle wagon and removed a large sum of cash, went back to the car and left it on the seat along with his signature marksman medal to cover the damages the Cadillac received in the duel with the mob.  
  
As he drove off in his van he thought, "A Fed. I have to kill a federal cop. No Bolan, don't think of him as that. He is the reason your parents are dead and has strong ties to the mob. He is your enemy, he crossed the line from good guy to bad guy as soon as he sold out your parents." 


	7. End Of The Game

CHAPTER 7: END OF THE GAME  
  
Armed with the new information of who it was that was truly responsible for the death of his parents, Marcus wasted no time on food, drink or sleep. He just gassed up his war wagon and made the trip from Seattle, Washington to Bowling Green, Ohio in record time.  
  
He also wasted no time once back in Bowling Green in snatching the cordless telephone and placing a call to Phil Lopez.  
  
"Software, what do you know about a F.B.I. agent named Dalton Key?" Bolan asked without preamble once he was through the hassle of the CIA operators who answer the hotline and then transfer you to whoever your handler is.  
  
"First, no names. Not even for parties other then us. Now how do you know that name?"  
  
"Before the final subject on my last op died we had a chance to chat a bit. The deceased subject of my last op named this new target as the information source he paid to locate our friends that started all of this. Now it is your turn. What do you know about him?" Marcus said into the phone.  
  
There was a pause, a moment of silence between the two men when Lopez broke it by saying, "Well, all of this is classified and out of your need to know. I'm respecting your wish by telling you what I know so that you will respect my wish that you will leave him alone. The subject you mentioned is an F.B.I agent stationed at the New Orleans field office, a former S.E.A.L. brother of yours gone bad. We have our spy hunters watching him because we have evidence of him selling classified material to Iran, Russia, France, Columbia and Pakistan. He is under suspicion of selling information that the U.S. would prefer him not to sell to many other countries. He sells anything to anyone with no regard to what it could mean to the rest of us."  
  
"So, why haven't you arrested him for treason yet?"  
  
"Because, most of the stuff we have him selling is out of his classification range. Things that are out of his need to know. The CIA spy hunters are watching him to break the network he has for gathering information." Lopez answered.  
  
"So you're telling me that we have a nation full of feds on the take. Our nation is wide open to the highest bidder?" Bolan inquired.  
  
"No, we don't think that at all. What we think is that over the years the subject has developed friendships in the various federal agencies that run our government and that they have let secrets slip in idle conversation. We don't believe his network to be making any money off of what they tell him. It's like the old World War Two adage, loose lips sink ships. Well, we are trying to stop loose lips from sinking America."  
  
"Ah, I see," Bolan answered, "Well fax me a photo of him, contact information, anything at all I'll need and I'll save your spy hunters the trouble of watching him. They can move on to living targets."  
  
"No. I told you all of this only so that you would leave him alone. This is a matter of national security and not the next step in this game of petty revenge of yours." Phil replied sternly.  
  
"Look. Because of this guy my family is dead. From what you've told me I assume that a lot of undercover feds have also died because of what this man sells. He needs to be taken out of circulation before anyone else dies." Bolan said.  
  
"No. Leave him alone. This is a matter of national security, don't go messing up years of investigation."  
  
"Firecracker wouldn't have told me not to."  
  
"Perhaps. Firecracker did know about him though, not that he sold out your parents but the spy hunters and no warrant for arrest were placed by him."  
  
"Software, I'm taking him." Bolan said matter of factly.  
  
"If you do, you will be able to count the CIA in your list of enemies. We will no longer provide you any information, funds, or equipment. Your status as an unofficial operative will be revoked. In short, you will be on your own. The U.S. Marshals and the F.B.I. haven't been able to catch you yet, do you really want the CIA and our vast information sources joining them against you?"  
  
"Well, what can I say? What's got to be has got to be." Bolan answered.  
  
Phil let out an audible sigh and said, "Well. I'm sorry you feel that way. However I will give you every chance to change your mind. The CIA will not move against you until confirmation of the subject's death reaches my desk."  
  
With that having been said, both men hung up their respective telephones ending the conversation on a negative note.  
  
**  
  
Marcus intended this to be a short lay over in Bowling Green. He didn't plan on remaining more then a few hours before he moved on to New Orleans. He wasn't about to let anything stop him.  
  
As he rechecked all of the weaponry he had packed for the final strike to avenge his parents Alexis entered the house, hung her keys on the key rack. Marcus heard the gentle sobs coming from her, she was crying.  
  
Bolan stopped what he was doing, went to the room she was in and asked, "What's wrong honey?"  
  
Alexis stopped crying out of surprise and said, "I wasn't expecting you to be here."  
  
"Well, I'm not going to be for long. What's the matter with you?" He asked again in tones that he only seemed to use around her lately. Everyone else he has spoken to in recent memory has been spoken to in icily cold voice tones and brisk direct orders.  
  
She ran to him and wrapped her arms around him and began sobbing again, this time very loudly. Marcus decided not to push the issue and just held on to her. For what seemed hours they stood there like that, him holding her around the waist, her with her arms wrapped around his chest and his shoulder becoming wetter and wetter by the moment, all in silence.  
  
After Alexis's tears settled down on their own accord, Marcus separated himself from her, looked into her eyes and asked again, "Now are you ready to tell me what is wrong?"  
  
"I don't know how." She answered.  
  
"Just don't think about it. Let whatever words the come to mind be voiced."  
  
"Well, ok. Here we go. I was just at the doctor's office. Well, there is no easy way for me to say this, so I guess I might as well just blurt it out. I'm pregnant."  
  
The look on Marcus's face told Alexis that her words had taken the wind right out of him. For his part, Marcus was more then completely dumbfounded and at a loss for words. All he could do at the time, and all he did was turn around and leave the house. Without saying a word. As he walked away, he could hear her crying again but didn't know what to say or do so he just kept walking.  
  
For hours, he walked around aimlessly in a daze. His thoughts were so jumbled that not even he was able to make since out of them, to him it just sounded like thousands of people all talking to him at once. His daze was so complete that when he absentmindedly returned to the house he couldn't recall a single place he had been. He knew that he had been walking for hours, he just couldn't recall walking anywhere or by anything.  
  
He walked back into the house and the two of them once again held each other in a silent embrace. For her part, Alexis took no offense to Marcus's wondering off.  
  
"So, are you ready to talk now?" Alexis broke the silence.  
  
Again they separated, Marcus sat in his chair and Alexis sat down on the footstool directly in front of him.  
  
"Well, I guess the first question I have is, is it mine? How do you know it is mine?" Bolan asked.  
  
She stood up and sent a slap full of all the strength she could muster into his cheek and yelled, "WHAT DO YOU MEAN HOW DO I KNOW IT IS YOURS? YOU THINK I'M SOME SORT OF SLUT! THAT RUNS AROUND AND BEDS OTHER MEN WHILE YOU'RE OFF ON YOUR LITTLE WAR! IS THAT WHAT YOU THINK OF ME!"  
  
Bolan stopped the second slap before it could land, "Whoa lil lady. That just came out wrong, that's all. I wasn't calling you a slut and didn't mean for it to sound that way. I'm sorry."  
  
"Then what did you mean, exactly?" She said as coldly as he often spoke to the Mafioso he came across. It hasn't been that long since you were with Vincent. Is it possible that your child is his?"  
  
She shook her head from side to side and said, "No, no. I know it isn't his. We hadn't, well, lets put it this way. If he had gotten me pregnant I would have known before now."  
  
Marcus believed her, and with his concerns on the subject abetted he wrapped her in a tight embrace, kissed her lips, looked her in the eye, smiled and said, "Well. It looks like I'm a family man now."  
  
"So you're giving up your war then?" Alexis asked, the shock evident in her voice.  
  
"Yes I am. After one last mission." He answered.  
  
"Why one last mission? You told me that your dad abandoned the mission he was on when he learned about you. Why can't you do the same?"  
  
Marcus took her hands in his and said, "Beautiful, the circumstances are different. My dad had avenged the death of his family long before he learned about me. All he was doing was avenging those who couldn't avenge themselves and saving the people that the mob would have yet killed. My family on the other hand, well there is still one-person left that is responsible for my parents' deaths. As soon as he is taken care of, I will return to you and I won't continue my war. My war will end at the death of every person who had anything to do with my parents' murders."  
  
Knowing that she wasn't going to talk him out of it she asked, "So how long are you in town for?"  
  
"Just until I can get everything together and hit the road. Do me a favor, have everything in this house packed up and ready to go when I get back. Phil and I are going to be at odds when I get back and it will be best if he doesn't know where I am for a little while."  
  
"Umm sure. You gonna tell me why you two fell out?"  
  
"When all is said and done I will."  
  
"I guess that I'll have to just live with that." Alexis said, obviously disappointed.  
  
After this discussion was over Bolan continued preparations for what turned out to be his last operation. The urgency to complete it much greater now, but his dark mood had lifted. He still wasn't going to waste anytime by sleeping and he wasn't hungry.  
  
As Marcus was heading out the door, Alexis stopped his, kissed him good-bye and said, "You be careful now, you hear. Come back to me."  
  
Marcus smiled, returned her kiss and said, "I've faced a lot greater odds then this one. This time I'm only up against one guy and not armies. But don't worry; I've got something in addition to you worth coming back for. I'll be careful."  
  
She kissed him again and said, "I love you."  
  
He returned her kiss and answered, "I love you to." With that he turned his back, loaded up the war wagon, looked back at her one more time with a smile on his face and was gone.  
  
**  
  
Several hours of hard driving later Marcus arrived in New Orleans and thought to himself as he saw the sea of revilers, "Leave it up to me to have to find one guy in the middle of Mardi gras."  
  
Bolan pulled his van into a parking spot just outside of New Orleans, very likely the only place he'd be able to find a parking spot with Mardi gras underway, got out and walked into town. He worked his way through the crowds to every hotel only to be told the same thing at each one. They were overbooked already and that he would have to go elsewhere.  
  
Marcus settled for buying a cheap collapsible cot from an Army Navy Surplus store and set it up in the van. He didn't plan on staying in New Orleans long enough to make the hassle for renting an apartment under an assumed name worth it, so the van would have to double as a mobile home.  
  
Once this was set up, Marcus walked back into the city and purchased a bright orange clownish looking wig, blue face paint, and a jumpsuit of flowered print. If there was a better way to hide in a crazy and drunk town then to look crazy and drunk himself, Bolan didn't know it.  
  
After these items were purchased he changed cloths into his "Mardi Gras camouflage" as he rationalized it, painted half of his face blue and walked to the New Orleans F.B.I field office. He stood there and watched as official looking people came in and out of the building, not knowing exactly why he was doing this since he wouldn't recognize Dalton Key if saw him without a photo. He knew he couldn't just walk in to the office and nose around to see what he could learn. Bolan was at a complete loss for what to do for the first time since his war began.  
  
On the bright side however, no one from the F.B.I recognized or even recognized him in the sea of revilers.  
  
**  
  
As Marcus stood outside the field office, Dalton Key stepped outside the door, placed his hands in his pockets and enjoyed the sight of the out of town idiots the flocked to New Orleans on an annual basis. He truly did love New Orleans, this was a party town year round and Mardi Gras was just nuts. It was just the city for a single man in his early thirties.  
  
At least the F.B.I had stationed him in this city, since he was disappointed with his position as a data entry clerk. When he joined the agency, the last thing he thought he'd be doing was sitting at a computer screen all day entering reports written by the people who did the work that he should be doing. However, his lowly position did not hamper is abilities to impress the most eligible of New Orleans single women and their parents with his made up stories of shoot outs with terrorists, car chases with bank robbers and the time that he single handedly brought down America's Most Wanted Man, Raul Remierz who was an international drug smuggler that had escaped capture in the U.S. for a decade who also managed to existed only in the imagination of Mr. Dalton Key. However, his position in data entry is how he started his very lucrative side business of being a freelance double agent. One little tid bit of information sold first for a small sum, a little bit larger chunk next of information next, and now he was putting together full packets for the highest bidder some of which went to the highest bidder and the others went to whoever it was that contacted him and paid the requested sum in advance. Dalton Key planned to retire very young.  
  
He left he perch in front of the field office and walked to the federal employee-parking garage. Fortunately, this is the governmental section of town and while Mardi Gras encompassed the entire city, this area had less of a party presence then other areas. This allowed him to drive his car the mile to work from his apartment and back.  
  
Before entering the parking garage, Marcus pulled out the keyless entry remote car start that he had installed when Marcus Bolan began his rampage through the nation's underworld. Key strongly doubted that Bolan would catch onto him; after all he covered his tracks well. In addition to that, Don Vitale, prior to his death, was the only Mafia Commissioner that knew Key was the one that provided the information on the whereabouts of Mack Bolan and now that Vitale was dead he wouldn't be telling anyone else. Dalton had faith in Vitale, granted the mafia wasn't the mob of the 1920s and 30s, which was in evidence by the number of made men turning states evidence. Omerta, the mob's code of silence wasn't what it once was, but yet Don Vitale was one of the oldest living Mafioso in the country. However, it paid to be safe. Once his car had been started and the parking garage had not erupted into flames, Key entered the garage, sat in his car and drove off.  
  
**  
  
A few hours later, Marcus was beginning to develop a game plan for the extermination of one Dalton Key.  
  
He sat in his war wagon and called the field office from the cell phone he had picked up somewhere between Bowling Green and New Orleans.  
  
When the receptionist answered the phone, Bolan said, "Hi, I'm Titus Eldon from the network television show Hot Topic. Perhaps you've heard of it."  
  
"Heard of it. I watch it all the time. It's my favorite of all the tabloid t.v. shows. Have I ever seen you on it?" The receptionist responded.  
  
"Um no. I'm one of the show's researchers."  
  
"Ah, I see. Well how can I help you Mr. Eldon?" The receptionist sounded disappointed.  
  
"I'm doing a report on former U.S. Navy S.E.A.Ls and what they are doing now. My sources have informed me that you have one employed in your office. A Mr. Dalton Key. I was wondering if you'd be so kind as to provide a way for me to get into contact with him. A telephone number or a home address maybe."  
  
"I'm sorry Mr. Eldon, but information on our agents is strictly protected. I can not give you anything like that."  
  
"Can you confirm for me that he does indeed work at that field office?" Bolan persisted.  
  
"Once again I'm sorry but I can't confirm or deny that."  
  
"Oh come on. This is the chance of a lifetime for Mr. Key. Would you really deny him his fifteen minutes of fame?" Bolan persisted himself.  
  
"I'm sorry Mr. Eldon but that information is classified and therefore not available to the media. Is there anything else I can help you with?"  
  
That game plan had failed and it was time to begin formulating a new one, "No, there's nothing else you can do for me. Thank you for your time." Marcus said and then hung up the phone.  
  
**  
  
That night, Key sat in his apartment doing what he does best. Preparing a packet for the Michigan Militia on federal law enforcement officers who have taken deep cover with in. This one is going to bring him a big paycheck of $500,000 and in four days at the most it will be ready to go. He couldn't wait for that lump sum payment to arrive.  
  
At the same time, Marcus laid on his cot unable to sleep. First, this cot was the most uncomfortable thing he had ever slept on, no wonder it was so cheap. Second, he was built up with excitement that after this mission was complete his parents would have been fully revenged. He finally admitted to himself for the first time that he hadn't expected to live this long. The final reason for his inability to sleep was the news of his impending fatherhood had finally sunk in, and along with that came the ramifications it meant. The main one being his war, which he planned on executing until his dying day, was over as soon as this op was complete. There was a lot of good he could still do, a lot of made men who could still be stopped, but if he were to continue his war, that would mean being distant from his child who was at this very moment forming in Alexis's womb. Mack Bolan set the example by giving up his war to raise Marcus and it was a good one that Marcus intended to copy. Marcus would be a real man and raise his child the best he could. Any idiot could be a father, but it takes a real man to be a daddy, and it was a daddy that Bolan intended to be.  
  
**  
  
Dressed in blue jeans, a black tee shirt and ball cap Marcus Bolan was sitting at a computer terminal in the New Orleans Public Library as soon as it opened. He had planned to install an Internet capable computer into his war wagon, but thus far hadn't gotten around to it. The war wagon that as soon as possible would begin its transition back to a family vehicle. Since he had never installed it however, Marcus was dependant upon public libraries for access to the World Wide Web.  
  
The first search he ran was of official F.B.I. websites, hoping beyond hope that one of them would have a photo of Dalton Key. As he expected, the search was fruitless.  
  
The next search he ran was of the New Orleans newspaper. He held a little more hope for this search since thousands of ordinary citizens land their faces in the newspaper at one time or another. However, this search proved to be as worthless as his first one.  
  
Marcus tried dozens of more searches with equally disappointing results. His break came however when he ran a search on the name Dalton Key, on the long shot hope that Key would have been stupid enough to have a personal website considering his line of work.  
  
Key proved smart enough not to have a personal website, however the weak in his defense turned out to be his mother who did have a personal website. Marcus opened up Mrs. Key's web page and quickly searched it for information on Dalton. He learned a lot of background information on Key. His dad was a Marine that died in Vietnam; his step dad was a police officer that was killed in the line of duty. During high school, Key played football and wrestled but hadn't distinguished himself in either sport. Dalton, at a great disappointment to his birth father's side of the family with it's long Marine Corps tradition, joined the Navy as soon as he graduated High School and ended up being a cook. Unsatisfied with being a cook, Key went to college and studied foreign languages on the Navy's tab and graduated in the middle of his class. After college he made it through the S.E.A.L. training a few years before Marcus himself would be at the same locations undergoing the same training. Six months before Marcus himself entered into the S.E.A.L. program Key was injured on a classified operation and given a full honorable discharge from the Navy, after which he joined his hometown police department, the same one that his step father belonged to when was died. He rose from officer to detective and then applied to and was accepted into the F.B.I.  
  
Marcus also found at long last a photo of his final adversary.  
  
He searched the web page further but was unable to turn up any sort of contact information for Key. Bolan did however find contact information for Mrs. Key. He printed the photo and Mrs. Key's contact information. He didn't want to use a mother in order to kill her son but if it came down to it he would. His parents would be avenged.  
  
Bolan resisted the urge he felt inside him to rush and casually strolled from the computer terminal to the library's front desk where he could pick up his printouts and pay for them.  
  
He looked at the librarian and said, "Hi. I printed some things from station six."  
  
She gave him a pretty smile that only highlighted her naturally pretty face and said, "Let me get them for you sir." She walked back to the printer, pulled them off and began counting the number of pages as she walked back to him.  
  
The librarian paused when she saw the photo of Key and asked, "Do you know Dalton?"  
  
This turn of events was unexpected and took Bolan by surprise. The inside of him began stammering for words, while on the outside he remained cool and said, "Actually yes. I'm an old buddy of his from the S.E.A.L. teams. I'm more recently out of the Navy then he is, I heard from another buddy of ours that he lives in New Orleans now and I happened to have to stop here on business so I thought I would surprise him."  
  
She gave a small nod of the head and said, "Two pages, that will be twenty cents please."  
  
Marcus looked at her curiously and said, "Do me a favor. If you see Dalton, please don't tell him that we met or that I'm here. I really do want to surprise him."  
  
She looked at Bolan with fire in her eyes and said, "I see him all the time but haven't said a word to him in a year. The man is a world class jerk and you'd do all the single ladies of New Orleans a big favor if you were here to kill him rather then surprise him."  
  
Inside Bolan chuckled at her reaction and how close she unknowingly was to hitting the nail on the head by what she said, but instead asked, "Why do you say that?"  
  
"Half of the female population here at one time or another thought they would become Mrs. Dalton Key. He led us all to believe that and did nothing at all to discourage our beliefs that way. But then, when he had all he wanted from us we were discarded like an empty pop bottle. Sometimes, like with me he didn't bother to tell us it was over. So, yeah, I'd be very happy if someone were to kill Dalton Key."  
  
Marcus resisted the urge he had to tell her who he really was and why he was really in New Orleans and instead opted to say only, "Well, I'm sorry you feel that way." He then paid for his print outs and left.  
  
**  
  
When he left the library Bolan changed back into his Mardi Gras camouflage resumed his vigil that he began the previous day outside the F.B.I. field office, only this time he was armed with a photo of his prey. This time, he knows what Dalton Key looks like.  
  
Bolan stood there all day, not drawing anyone's attention since there were so many out of town visitors. Finally, at the end of the workday Marcus saw Dalton Key for the first time.  
  
Key stood outside the office for a brief moment, talked to another F.B.I. agent and began walking by himself to the parking garage. Marcus followed him at a discreet distance but slowly closed the gap between the two professional warriors.  
  
Once in the parking garage, Marcus closed to within fifty feet of Key, unholstered the 357 and drew a bead on Dalton. Bolan steadied his breathing, and pulled the trigger just as Key moved slightly to the left. Bolan's bullet missed him clean but the loud report of the firing alerted Key to the fact that he wasn't alone.  
  
Key pulled his side arm and, against all of his military and civilian training, blindly returned fire, missing Bolan by a large margin with every shot. He then hustled around to the other side of his car for cover.  
  
Key popped his head up over the hood of the car just as another shot bounced off the hood, so he lowered his head again.  
  
Not knowing where his attacker was, Dalton continued to fire blind shots, most of which never came close to Bolan. On Marcus's end however, the shots were all well timed and well placed.  
  
"This is nuts," Key thought, "There is no way I'm going to make it out of here like this."  
  
Key fired five successive shots from under neither his car, turned around and began crawling away.  
  
It didn't take long for Bolan to realize what Key was doing when he stopped firing so he cautiously exposed himself to any shots that Key might take and approached the car.  
  
Key more felt Bolan doing this then heard him, instincts carved out of long hours of harsh and intense training. He got to his feet and the gunplay turned into a running gunfight and Bolan pursued and Key ran out of shock and fear for his life.  
  
Dalton ducked into the stairwell and disappeared. Just as Bolan was about to take the chase into the stairs, the door swung open and Marcus realized it was an innocent coming out just a fraction of a second before he pulled the trigger.  
  
Marcus charged past the innocent, just about plowing him over in the process and into the stairwell. He paused for a brief second trying to decide which way to go.  
  
"If I were Key and some unknown had just fired on me out of the blue, I think I'd go for he nearest exit." He thought and began cautiously moving down the stairs with his sidearm pointed wherever his eyes went.  
  
Once he was at the bottom of the stairs and found no Dalton Key waiting for him, Marcus had a sinking feeling in his gut that his adversary had escaped. However he took the time to clear the entire parking garage just to make sure, but his suspicion proved to be accurate. Key had beaten him this time.  
  
**  
  
It was another sleepless night for Marcus Bolan. He paced his van dressed only in his sweat pants. His anger at himself for allowing Key to escape was evident.  
  
At the same time, in his apartment Dalton Key is also having a sleepless night. He had thoroughly been rattled by the unexpected attack earlier. Although no words had been exchanged, he knew who was after him. No matter how well he had covered his tracks, Marcus Bolan had somehow discovered that Dalton Key was the one who sold his parents out to the mafia, and no he was here for revenge.  
  
Key's worry took and edge of paranoia to it as he thought he saw Bolan in each and every new shadow.  
  
**  
  
Early the next morning, Marcus was once again at the New Orleans Public Library, only this time it was a person he'd gone to retrieve information from and not a machine.  
  
He entered the library, dressed much like he had been the day before and walked up to the librarian.  
  
"Hi there." He greeted her.  
  
"Ah, Mr. Navy S.E.A.L. Any luck in finding your jerk of a friend?" She replied in non-friendly tones.  
  
"Not yet. Actually I was hoping that you might be able to help me out with that. Do you know of any place that he goes on a regular basis? Maybe a club, a gym, anything like that?"  
  
"If I tell you, will you stop showing up here asking about him. Dalton is a man I'd really prefer to put in the past and bury him there." She responded.  
  
"Sure, no problem. You tell me when and where I'm likely to find him somewhere and you'll never see me again."  
  
"Ok fine. He goes to a gym a block east of his office every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday right after work for an hour and a half."  
  
"How about if he happens to be under a lot of stress. Would he still go?"  
  
"Yes. Working out and keeping in shape is the one thing that Dalton is fanatical about. The more stress he is under the better he enjoys his workouts."  
  
Bolan gave her his smile, which has always melted the female heart, nodded his head and said, "Thank you ma'am. And as I promised, you'll never see me again."  
  
With that he turned around and left the library.  
  
**  
  
By luck of the draw, the today is Monday, which just happened to be one of Key's gym days. Bolan made tracks for the gym. Once he was inside he paid the day rate and went to the locker room, where instead of changing into workout cloths he changed into his black battle gear and waited for Key.  
  
Fortunately it was a slow day at the gym and no one besides Key came into the locker room.  
  
Dalton saw the man in black and dropped his gym back on the ground knowing that the day's workout had been cancelled.  
  
"Marcus Bolan. I suppose you are here for me." Key said with a lot of false bravado in his voice.  
  
Marcus pulled out the silenced 9 millimeter and answered, "You're a smart man Key."  
  
"So, what's next? You just gonna gun me down right here?"  
  
"That's the plan. Give me a reason why I shouldn't."  
  
"Easy. We are both S.E.A.L.s. We are in the brotherhood of the elite. Don't you think you should give me a fair chance here? Settle this in the way of the elite, man to man."  
  
Bolan placed the 9-millimeter along with every other piece of his arsenal he brought with him on the wooden bench in the locker room.  
  
"Ok, we can do that." Bolan answered the challenge.  
  
The two men squared off, Key attacking first with a forward kick. Bolan countered that by side stepping the blow and brought a fist into Key's jaw. The blow staggered Key, but he maintained enough composure to launch a wrestling single leg take down. Key had Bolan's left leg in the air, tucked into his armpit with good form. However, Bolan artfully jumped over the leg sweep key aimed at his right shin. Instead, Bolan took Key down by wrapping his right leg around Key's left and leaning into him. Key fell to his back and Marcus landed on top of him. Fists, elbows and knees all flew from each of the combatants and their bodies showed the evidence of the encounter. Finally Key flipped over to his stomach, then up to his hands and knees. At this point he flipped Bolan in a wrestling side roll, quickly moved around behind Bolan who was trying to get back into some defensible position. Key wrapped his right arm around Bolan's throat and began to chock him. Fight as he might, Bolan was unable to break Key's grip. Bolan knew that he had met his end when the blackness began to surround him. He knew that his mission, his war and his life had all come to an end at the same time.  
  
Then out of nowhere and entirely unexpectedly Key's limp body fell over Bolan. Bolan's sight returned and he saw Key with a neatly drilled bullet hole between his eyes.  
  
He turned around and saw a stranger standing there with Marcus's own silencer equipped 9mm in his hands.  
  
"Marcus. Nice to finally meet you in person." The stranger said.  
  
"Wwho are you?" Bolan managed to choke out.  
  
"Ah, sorry. Guess that I should have introduced myself already." The man said helping Marcus stand up. "The name is Leo Turrin."  
  
Leo Turrin was Marcus's father's, Mack Bolan, other strongest ally in his war on the mob. Leo was a deep cover F.B.I agent inside the mafia at the time Marcus's grandparents died. Mack learned that Leo had been his teenage sister's pimp and marked Leo Turrin for death along with many other mafia members in the opening engagement of Bolan War One. The only reason Leo had survived is that he revealed his true status to Mack Bolan right before Mack had killed him. Throughout the years of Bolan War One, Leo along with Hal Brognola provided the assistance, which probably kept Mack alive long enough to become a father and leave his war behind.  
  
"I've read about you, in my dad's war journals." Marcus said with a stunned awe in his voice at meeting the man his father often referred to as "little big man".  
  
Turrin laughed, lit his cigar knowing that the locker room was a no smoking area and said, "I'd sure hope so. I'd be a little upset if he never mentioned me after all the times I stuck my neck out for him."  
  
Bolan's face developed a confused edge to it and he asked, "How did you know I'd be here?"  
  
Turrin, the man a few years older then Marcus's father, laid Bolan's firearm back on the bench and answered, "Well. Shortly after your old man went into hiding the mob made me. They almost got me to, but a soldier that was loyal to his death to me tipped me off about the contract on my head. With my cover blown I ran to the nearest field office for help. Instead of placing me into protective custody, which is the usual S.O.P. when an undercover agent's cover is blown, I was promoted and placed in the directorship position of this field office. I've been here ever since. Phil Lopez called me a couple of days ago and told me to expect you to come here. If you did, I was to take you out and inform Lopez immediately."  
  
"But, your not going to take me out." Bolan said.  
  
The older man smiled and said, "No. I agree with you just like I did Mack, God rest his soul. I was happy to put my neck on the line for him all those times just as I'm happy to do it for you now and whenever you may need me to in the future of your war."  
  
"Well, thanks but that won't be needed. I learned the day that I came here that I'm going to be a daddy, so I'm going into hiding myself." Marcus said.  
  
"Ah, now that pleases me to hear. I never had a brother or sister of my own, so your kind of the nephew I never had. But do me one favor will ya?" Turrin replied.  
  
"What's that?" Bolan asked.  
  
"If your kid is a boy, name him Leo."  
  
Bolan nodded his head and answered, "Perhaps. But what if it turns out to be a girl?"  
  
"Ah, well the only name fitting for a girl. Leo." Turrin said with a smile on his face.  
  
Both men laughed for a second and Turrin became serious again by saying, "I really wish he had more time to get acquainted but we don't. I have to inform Lopez that you were here and that Key is dead. He was killed with a shot from your gun so I need you to drop one of your marksmen medals and take credit for the kill. After that beat it, get as far from here as you can. I'll wait as long as I can before placing the call to the CIA, but I can't give you long. I'll tell him that I arrived too late, Key was dead and you were already gone."  
  
"That sounds good to me. I have a favor to ask of you though." Bolan said reaching into his pocket and pulling out a cassette tape.  
  
"Anything." The older man said.  
  
"This is a tape I made of my interview with Don Louis Vitale. On it he implicated Key as the one who sold out my parents. Make sure that this gets to Lopez and to the media. That way, everyone knows that I didn't kill a soldier on the same side.  
  
Leo took the tape and said, "My pleasure. Now get lost."  
  
Bolan dropped a marksman medal on Key's corpse, shook the hand of the man from his family's past, turned and left without another word being said.  
  
**  
  
Bolan wasted no time in getting to his van and then pulling it onto the highway heading north. It would only be a matter of time before New Orleans was sealed off. Maybe not tight with Mardi Gras in full swing, but law enforcement would be watching every way out for him and if he didn't go now, he wouldn't go at all.  
  
Two hours into the drive, Marcus's lack of sleep began to catch up with him. His eyes got heavy and he would awaken after a few seconds by his head bobbing.  
  
"Ugh, this is no good. I have to get some sleep, but not here. I'm still too close to New Orleans." He thought out loud.  
  
His head bobbed again, he awoke again just in time to notice the accident ahead of him. Marcus swerved his van sharply to the right to avoid the collision. However, he still managed to clip one of the vehicles with the front driver's side of his van at eighty miles per hour. The motion sent his van into a roll and it tumbled off the highway.  
  
The steering wheel broke off and the steering column impaled Bolan right below his lungs. Then the column broke off and both it and Marcus went flying free of the van. Bolan landed back down on the ground, and one of the explosives in the van must have armed itself in the collision because the van quickly became a fireball of falling shrapnel.  
  
Marcus's vision became blurry as a passage from his father's war journals came back to him. It was, "Many times when I go in, I never know how I will get out, or if I will. More then once in these pages I've declared myself already dead. All I care about is accomplishing the mission. Beyond that nothing matters."[1]  
  
With his father's words going through his head along with the mental images of his parents, Phil Lopez, Hal Brognola, and Alexis Marcus Bolan slipped into the blissful slumber of death.  
  
127 filled body bags since the start of his war, yes; Marcus Bolan accomplished his mission and avenged the untimely deaths of his parents.  
  
**  
  
Early the next morning in Bowling Green, Ohio Alexis was making breakfast for herself. She had the TV on for sound when she heard, "This just in. It has been confirmed that Marcus Bolan, the son of famed vigilante Mack Bolan, was killed last night after he killed the F.B.I. agent that sold the information of his parents' whereabouts to the mafia which began Bolan's own one man war against the mob, or as we in the press have come to call it, Bolan War Two. An audiotape made of Marcus Bolan and one of his earlier victims Mafia Don Louis Vitale has been leaked to this and other stations. Stay tuned and we will play it in its entirety for you. Once again for those of you just tuning it, it has been confirmed that Marcus Bolan has died.  
  
That was all Alexis heard, she collapsed to the floor crying like she hadn't cried in years. ----------------------- [1] The Executioner #16, Sicilian Slaughter by Jim Peterson 


	8. Aftermath

CHAPTER 8: AFTERMATH  
  
While the mob celebrated at the news of Marcus Bolan's death, the days for many others passed in a slow, sad silence. Finally the day of his funeral arrived and despite the extraordinary security precautions that were taken, there were no mob retaliations taken.  
  
After the funeral Phil Lopez pulled Leo Turrin and the entire S.E.A.L. Team Four into a private meeting in one of the church's small classrooms.  
  
"I've pulled you all together to offer you all a position working for the C.I.A. I have orders from the president to commemorate two brave and fallen warriors, Mack and Marcus Bolan with the creation of Bolan Team 1. Bolan Team 1 is the first of several Bolan Teams, which will be tasked with waging a covert war on the mafia. You, the men of S.E.A.L. Team 4 knew Marcus Bolan better then anyone else and have the necessary skills to make the Bolan Teams successful. I am authorized to offer you all full and immediate honorable discharges should you choose to accept a position on Bolan Team 1. I have to warn you that it won't be easy and could very well be more dangerous then many of the operations you preformed as S.E.A.Ls." Phil said.  
  
All of the Navy commandos present consented to leave the military life for the honor of continuing their friend's war on the mob.  
  
Leo Turrin however was confused and his confusion was evident by the look on his face.  
  
"You have a question Mr. Turrin?" Lopez asked.  
  
"Yes Director Lopez. I do. I understand why these men are here, but why did you want to meet me as well. I was in the Green Berets during Vietnam, I'm too old to go busting through windows and shooting it out with the mob now."  
  
"I know, and that's not why you're here." Phil said, "You're here because Hal informed of your relationship with Mack Bolan during his war."  
  
Leo looked at Lopez in even more confusion.  
  
"Why do you think I contacted you with news that Marcus was going to New Orleans. I had to send out orders to take him out and I could have very well have not involved you at all. I could have kept it within my agency and informed my spy hunters that were watching Key. Instead though, I knew you wouldn't do it. I knew you'd let him go and that's why I called you. I also know about the time you spent undercover inside the mob. That's why you're here. You are one of the nation's leading authorities on the mafia and the only undercover agent to ever climb to the rank of underboss. You are here because you are my choice to lead to Bolan Teams from Washington D.C. You will work directly for me."  
  
The room was full of silence and finally Phil broke it with, "Well. Do you accept?"  
  
Turrin smiled and said, "Yes I do boss."  
  
"Good. Bolan Team 1, welcome to the CIA." Phil said.  
  
**  
  
Alexis still had a price on her head from the Chicago mob. A hit order is valid until you are hit and are not often lifted. Hers hadn't been lifted.  
  
Phil continued Marcus's protection of her by relocating her to an undisclosed location and changing her name.  
  
**  
  
Nine months later, Alexis sat at the fireplace of her new house. In front of her were the war journals of Marcus and Mack Bolan along with various other items from both of their wars.  
  
She rubbed the bulge of her stomach here her son lay waiting to be born at anytime. She wiped away the tears and threw the journals and everything else that hinted at her son's true heritage into the fireplace. As she watched the items burn she said, "The mafia will not be involved in the deaths of four generations of Bolans."  
  
After this she went into labor, and thirteen hours later Marcus Mack DeMarrow was born. 


End file.
